


The Gospels of Chuck

by Rainpebbles



Category: Firefly, Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Destiel - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, M/M, Religious Themes, Sabriel - Freeform, Sassy Balthazar, Slow Build, Supernatural Elements, crazy! Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 13:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11014773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainpebbles/pseuds/Rainpebbles
Summary: Impala Series: Part VII. The crew sets down in a mudder colony for their next job only to find out that Chuck is a hero to the people there. As the crew hears the story behind their mechanic, they learn that free will and peace don't always walk hand in hand. Sabriel and Minor Destiel (We're getting there guys)





	The Gospels of Chuck

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I disclaim everything....

Warnings: This story contains religious themes and undertones throughout the whole story. No offense is meant. It is simply one single view/opinion that someone may have. It doesn't necessarily have to be the authors actual opinion, so if possible I would like to ask for no mean comments and if you are truly offended then feel free to private message me to share your thoughts and you can skip this story.

CHAPTER 1

"No. No way that's true."

"I'm afraid it is Dean."

"Nope. I'm not buying it."

Sigh

"Dean, I am sorry, but you do."

Dean and Cas were in the dining area sitting on one of the old and worn couches. Dean was turned sideways to face Cas who was doing the same as they talked about many serious things, heads bent forwards at each other, ignoring anyone else in the room. Chuck was at the dining table writing away in his book, whining every time the grease on his hands smudged a word, but he was more relaxed than anyone had seen him before. It was the kind of scene that warmed someone from even the deepest chill, and that is what Sam got to walk in on.

His brother seemed to notice his arrival and immediately accosted his attention, "Hey Sam, do I say "awesome" a lot?"

Sam stared at his brother for a beat, and then glanced to Cas who was shaking his head sadly. Sam smirked and walked into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, muttering under his breath a placating, "No, no, no," to mess with Dean. It had the desired effect and Dean swirled back to Cas.

"I do not! I have a wonderful and extensive vocabulary! Just ask Chuck! He's a writer!" He said defensively.

Cas smiled sadly, "Do you want me to give you an actual count? It is almost as high as your "sonuvabitch" levels."

Momentarily shocked by the swear coming from the other man's mouth, Dean sputtered and looked to Sam for help, and finding none.

"I…I do not! Sam?...I don't!"

Then Cas laughed. An honest to God laugh that brought a smile to each person's face. Even Chuck looked up from his writings, a goofy grin on his features. With all of the drama and tragedy that the young man had gone through, all of the struggles he had faced and what he was still struggling with, it was a beautiful sound to hear.

Dean swatted at his head fondly, "Shut up."

"Hey now, no beating up on my baby brother." Balthazar had just walked into the room, freshly groomed as always. Dean turned to gauge the man's expression, to see if he was still on edge about him and Cas, but the warm smile and joking tone quelled any worry that Dean had.

"Hello Balthazar." Greeted Cas from his spot on the couch as his big brother came over to join them.

"Hello dear Cassy. I came to tell you all that I may have found us another job." He started. Dean's face lit up in excitement.

"Aweso…I mean, that's good. What is it?"

"Man named Kessler on a mudder planet. He had some goods he wants delivered. And I checked with Gabriel. The planet is only a day away from where we are now."

Back at the table, Chuck stopped writing.

"What's the name of the planet?" Asked Dean.

"Gerat, but the town we're aiming for is a mud plant community by the name of Canton." Stated Balthazar. Dean shrugged at the name. He had never heard of it, and definitely hadn't been there before. Good chance that they would have no enemies. Sounded good to him.

Nobody noticed Chuck as he dropped his pen and tensed up.

"Okay, I think we have a job then. I'll go let Anna know in case she wants to look for a client. Cas, you wanna come with? I bet Anna still has some of that incense you like," Dean asked, nudging the other man with his elbow. Castiel nodded eagerly and they got up from the couch and headed off to Anna's shuttle. Balthazar moved off to talk to Gabriel about the course change and Sam followed him, bringing an extra cup of coffee for the pilot so full of sugar it was almost a solid, just how he liked it.

Chuck was left alone in the room, nervously fingering the pages in front of him.

 

It was nearly three a.m. by his reckoning when Bobby stumbled out of bed, throat parched to the point of pain. He headed to the kitchen, stubbing his toe several times along the way to get a glass of water, but when he got there he was a little surprised to see Castiel sitting at the table writing in a book.

"I keep forgetting you don't sleep," he muttered as a greeting, shuffling his way to the sink. He still had his eyes squinted almost completely shut do to the harsh lighting in the kitchen. It might have been his imagination, or his eyes finally adjusted, but it seemed like the lights dimmed in the room a bit, as if the ship was accommodating him.

Whatever the young man was doing with that book, he was concentrating on it furiously, scribbling away in the margins. It sparked the preacher's curiosity enough for him to move to the table, sipping at his water along the way.

"What have you got there, son? He asked kindly, leaning over to see what he was working on at this late hour. He had always been curious as to how the young man passed the time.

Cas looked up at him briefly, acknowledging his presence, "I'm fixing your bible." He stated and went back to his editing, red pen poised elegantly in his fingers.

Bobby choked on his latest sip of water, sputtering loudly enough for Cas to look up annoyed at the distraction, "What?!"

Cas sighed exasperated and rolled his eyes, "The bible. It's broken. Contradictions, falsehoods, misinterpretations…it's a disaster waiting to happen." He opened up to one of his previous pages, showing the marked up text to the preacher who went slack-jawed.

"You…that bible was forty years old…" he started weakly.

But Cas ignored him and started to point randomly at some passages, "First off, God is completely indifferent to sexual orientation."

Seeing that he won't get through to Cas at the moment, Bobby deflates and gestures for Cas to continue, rubbing at the start of a headache.

"Second, did you know that if you have injured or cut of genitals that you are not allowed to enter the house of God? If this is so then all circumcisions must be stopped! And also women aren't allowed to even speak within His walls! And then there is the greatest tragedy of all, out of all the domestic animals of that time…the cat was never mentioned," he said sadly and then pointed to a page where he had drawn in a picture of a cat. He sighed heavily, "I had always felt that the bible was one species short. I have studied many philosophers and many cats. The wisdom of cats is infinitely superior."

Bobby was trying to process it all, trying to follow Cas' trail of thought. It hadn't been too long ago that they had discovered that Cas' words usually had a deeper meaning in them, and Bobby was looking for that now, but then again, he doubted if Castiel was truly worried about the universes male population being circumcised.

He watched as Cas pouted as he continued to mark up the book mumbling under his breath, "It's broken. It's all broken. Doesn't make sense. Doesn't feel right."

"Castiel, listen son. It's not about making sense. It's about believing in something and letting that belief be real enough to change your life. It's about faith. You don't fix faith, Cas. It fixes you."

The young man stopped his writing to look up at the preacher, hesitance in his eyes, "We live in a sorry universe. It's engineered to make conflict. I…I don't know if I can have faith in God. I've never met him. Never seen his glow…how do I know that he is worth following if there is so much pain in so many people?"

Bobby chuckled, "There are quite a few people I can think of that follow Him regardless of never meeting Him and feel that he does take away the pain."

Cas looked down at his hands, twirling the red pen in his hand, "I want to have faith Bobby. I really do. I want it to fix me. I want it to change me from what I am…from what they made me. Can it do that?" he asked as if daring to hope.

Bobby looked back at him sadly, "Faith is a powerful thing Cas. Never telling what it can do for you or where it will take you. You just have to believe it's where you want to go."

He watched as Cas tumbled that around in his mind, testing it's validity, tasting the idea on his tongue before accepting it in. Finally he looked back up at Bobby.

"I chose to have faith in Dean. I've already changed because of him. And maybe…in time I'll start to have faith in humanity as a whole. And maybe perhaps…maybe if I get to the right place, then you and I can talk about faith in "the big guy"," he stated firmly.

Bobby raised a bushy eyebrow, "The big guy?"

Cas nodded, "That's what Dean calls Him."

Rolling his eyes the preacher got up from his seat to bring his glass over to the counter to be washed in the morning, "Of course he does. Have you ever heard the saying, Men are cruel, but Man is kind?" Castiel shook his head. "You have faith in whatever you need to, son. Don't think that out of all of us, you're the only one who has doubts about humanity or about themselves. It's only…it's only human. Now I'll let you hold on to that for a bit," he said gesturing to the book on the table. Castiel nodded, but didn't move to continue his mission, instead he leaned back in his chair, staring at the book. And that was how Bobby left him when he walked back to his room all the while muttering under his breath about "crazy kids using his bible as a damn glorified coloring book".

 

 

The Next Day

"You headed out, Anna?" asked Dean as she glided into the hold in a lovely flowing gold dress. The whole crew was mingling in the hold, excited to get out of the ship for a change and soak up some sun and air.

"Indeed I am! I've got an appointment with the magistrate's son it seems. Please don't get everyone into too much trouble while I'm gone," she said as she passed by Dean, smirking in a way that only a Companion could get away with. Dean rolled his eyes and went back to checking the chamber in his gun like he did before every job. Cas was standing next to him watching as the crew moved around the hold. Then he waved to Anna as she headed down the ramp, "Goodbye, Anna. I hope your copulation is satisfactory," he intoned formally, earning him a giggle from the Companion as she left. Dean on the other hand sent Cas a startled look.

Chuck had been wandering around the hold, timidly peeking out of the open ramp ever few minutes as if looking for someone to come over the ridge to attack him. Dean had been watching the odd behavior for a while now and finally it go to the point where he couldn't take it anymore.

"Chuck! Who put the ants in your pants?" He shouted, startling the mechanic.

Cas groaned next to him, "Oh, Chuck. I must apologize. It must have been Gabriel. He used to do that to us when we were children. I shall go scold him now," and walked off with another apologetic glance to Chuck, wondering to himself how Gabriel had been able to acquire ants on a spaceship. The Captain and mechanic watched as he glided off.

Dean wasn't distracted by it though, "So Chuck, are you going to tell me what's got you so nervous? If you're hiding something that could endanger the crew, you better spill it now." He warned.

Chuck's shoulders dropped defeated, "Okay, okay. I was living here a few years back because it was a quiet place with cheap rent to work on my first book. I…might not have left on the best of terms…."

Meg and Gabriel had heard Chuck's confession and snorted with laughter.

"Do you really expect us to believe that you have actual live non-imaginary enemies? You? What did you do? Write romance novels?" giggled Meg, unable to control herself at the absurdity of the whole thing.

"No! I just…there is nothing to worry about. If someone recognizes me, they'll only be mad with me…they won't bother the rest of you," he promised to Dean. The Captain nodded, trusting him to be right about this before moving down the ramp, the rest of the crew following dutifully. But Chuck ran back into the ship, seeming to have forgotten something.

Balthazar was the first to comment on what they were all thinking, "This place bloody stinks." He growled like his anger might be enough to scare off the stench.

Sam's face was screwed up in agreement, "It really does wreak, but I'm guessing that's what makes it such a great drop point. No one comes here that doesn't have to."

"I vote we do this job really, really fast," voiced Meg sounding muffled do to her shirt pulled up over her nose.

"All of you stop whining. We can burn some of Anna's fancy scented candles later to cleanse your delicate nostrils, until then…Sam, you're holding down the fort. Gabriel, you need to stay and get Bernoulli on a wave to let him know we'll have his merchandise by the end of the week."

"Whoo! We get the ship to ourselves Sammy!" Cheered Gabriel, but Dean shook his head.

"Ha! No. Cas will be here too. He said he had something he needed to do before he could come play." Cas nodded silently behind Dean.

"Can I stay behind too?" asked Balthazar in a whiny voice.

It was like dealing with children sometimes, thought Dean. Bobby chuckled next to him, as if sensing his thoughts, "Breath deep, boy. I'm a Sheppard. I know the pains of keeping a flock together," he said, soothing Dean's building frustration.

Dean took a breath, just like Bobby suggested before happily smiling over at Balthazar, "Sorry, Balthazar, I've got plans for you."

The middle Novak looked shocked…and then a little suspicious, "Come again?"

Chuck chose that moment to re-appear at the bottom of the ramp again, wearing what looked like every piece of clothing he had ever owned. Dean only raised one eyebrow and didn't comment. The rest of the crew followed suit.

"It is your contact after all. And besides, the management here doesn't like sight-seers, which is why we're posing as buyer. There isn't a single one of us that looks more the part of a rich buyer than you, Mr. V-Neck. I mean, if the fancy fits, buffed nails, definitely a moneyed individual. All rich and silky all over…"

Balthazar cut him off sharply, "All right. Fine. I'll go, just…stop describing me," and he whined piteously as he started off towards the town, brushing roughly up against Gabriel as they left in an odd display of sibling jealousy.

Dean bowed low as he walked by, "You're the boss, boss." He said sarcastically, glad to get a good ribbing in. Lucky for him Balthazar wasn't angry anymore and didn't just decide to shoot him.

They all trudged forward together, leaving Sam, Gabriel and Cas waving behind them as they set off to work. Dean sighed heavily, regretting it right away when the stench hit him again. Gabe was right. The sooner they finished this the better.

 

CHAPTER 2

They moved as a group into the first mud quarry that they came upon. There were hundreds of workers pulling hoses, shoveling gravel, pushing wheelbarrows, the entire place was hopping. Bobby elbowed Dean hard in the side when he spotted what they assumed was the foreman of the quarry. The assumption was based mostly on the fact that he was the only one of the workers who wasn't caked head to toe in mud.

Balthazar spotted him next and strutted right over to the foreman, an air of business about him, and Dean was a little impressed with him.

"Hello, hello! I'm…well I'm looking to buy some mud it seems." He said rubbing his hands together as if he were excited at the prospect. The mudder didn't seem to notice the somewhat overeager energy and simply smile a near toothless grin back at the potential client.

"Well then you've come to the right place!" He said enthusiastically, chuckling as he slapped Balthazar in a friendly manner on the back, leaving a giant muddy handprint on his blazer. The posh man didn't seem to notice it, but Dean couldn't wait to see his face when he found the stain later. It would be pure gold.

The foreman welcomed the crew with a wide gesture to follow him as he led them through the narrow paths of the mud factory, turning his head halfway back to them giving a running commentary as they moved along, much like a tour guide. Dean wondered jokingly to himself if there would be a gift shop at the end of this.

"Of course we can handle any volume here. We have over 2,000 workers, mostly indentured. We pay them next to nothing, so that we can pass the savings directly on to you, the customer. And them clean-looking folks over there are the prods. They's the Magistrate's personal guard. They's like the law around here."

Now the guy was beginning to sound like an old ship's salesman as well as a tour guide, mused Dean.

Balthazar let out an over dramatic cry of happiness, "Savings?! That's excellent, because, I'm telling you now, my dear sir, I'm going to need copious amounts of good old fashioned mud."

The foreman nodded back, not noticing the snickering crew that walked behind them, "Yuppers! Ours is the best of it's kind. We mix it, we brick it raw, right here on the premise. Iffin' you add the right catalyst, you kiln it good and proper, this stuff gets ten times stronger than steel at half the weight."

Somewhere behind him, Dean heard Meg's snort of disbelief. Luckily the foreman didn't hear her. The Captain really wasn't in the mood to deal with a mob of insulted mudders.

"Oh, yes! I've heard many a wonderful thing about your product. And might I say, this batch right here looks particularly promising. Is that sulfur I detect in the mixture? It must be some special trade secret you all have to create this wonderful…uh, mud." Balthazar kept up the continuous string of compliment, pointedly ignoring Dean's frantic gestures for him to cool it before they finally caught on to the freaking waterfall of sarcasm that was pouring out of the man's mouth.

Bobby was doing his best not to chuckle audibly, but anyone who looked could see the preacher's shoulders shaking with the repressed laughter. It seemed like the only one who wasn't enjoying himself was Chuck. He had pulled up one of the many collars he was wearing to hide the lower part of his face, and then pulled low the hat so that it covered most of the top, almost completely obscuring his vision. How he hadn't fallen flat on his face or walked into a pole yet was an impressive feat to Dean.

Bobby leaned over to the Captain, "I wish that Sam and Gabriel were here to witness this. They would get a real kick out of it. I just can't wait to see how Balthazar takes it when he notices the mud on his coat later. I bet the boys back on the ship will hear the howl from the town," he chuckled.

Dean smiled back wryly before stepping up next to where Balthazar was questioning the foreman about the different textures that could be produced, "Excuse me, boss? I'm sure the foreman had things that need attending to. Why don't we wander a bit, take a look at the operations, then you can figure out whether we get an account here."

"What a wonderful idea, Mr. Winchester!," Balthazar beamed and turned to the foreman, "That's why I hired him. Always thinking of others. I'll let you get back to your numerous duties and we'll just have a gander around." He shook the foreman's hand firmly with both of his own before walking off, not waiting for an answer, but the foreman merely shrugged and walked off to yell at some particularly lazy workers.

Dean turned to his crew once Balthazar had re-joined them, "All right, let's head to worker-town. Find our man Kessler, and then we get this job done.

"Not if Balthazar gets us killed first. If that guy didn't have bricks for brains he might have noticed that our "boss" was mocking him," scowled Meg.

Dean had to agree with her there, but he'd let Balthazar handle it. He had a feeling that the middle Novak knew how much he could get away with and was just playing around. Absently he glanced around himself to take note of the workers and to keep track of each of his crew, "I wouldn't worry over it, Meg. Besides, his disguise isn't half as funny as Chucks. The guy looks like he's from an ice-planet."

"Keep it down! Someone might hear you saying my name," hissed Chuck in a frantic whisper. He pulled his collar even higher.

"I'm sorry to tell you this, son, but that get-up you're wearing is more likely to draw attention to yourself than anything Dean could say about you," said Bobby from behind.

"I have to agree with them, my dear. You haven't been here in years. No one's going to remember you," stated Balthazar in a comforting tone. Chuck's attention was so wrapped up in what the others were saying that he didn't notice when Bobby had stopped dead in his tracks and each of them bumped into the preacher awkwardly.

Angrily each of them looked up at the older man, wanting to know why he had stopped so suddenly, but he was staring at something straight ahead.

"I dunno, Balthazar. I'm starting to think that it's possible they might remember him a bit."

They all looked ahead of them to where in the center of the town was a large ceramic statue standing proudly in an inspirational pose of none other than…Chuck.

Dean couldn't believe his eyes, "Sonuvabitch."

They all stood there stunned for what could have been a good few minutes, mouths agape, before Dean finally chose to break the awkward silence.

"Hey, Chuckie?"

"Um, yes Dean?"

"You want to tell me how come there's a statue of you here looking at me like I owe him something?"

"Um, I really wish I could, Captain." They all turned to look at Chuck who had paled alarmingly going by what little skin they could see under his costume. He had wrapped his arms around his middle, a common enough gesture that he did whenever he was super confused, super worried, super embarrassed…or just nervous in general.

"I'm serious here, Chuck. Why the hell am I looking at two of you here, one of which is actually kind of intimidating?"

Chuck whined loudly, "I'm telling you Dean. I've got no freaking idea! I was here a few years back. I spent a few months working on my first book, met some people, and then I left! They don't put you on a pedestal in town square for that!" he said in a voice close to hysterical.

"Well, we're looking at some compelling evidence that says they do," huffed Bobby, still not taking his own eyes off of the statue and the inscription beneath it.

Meg was openly staring slack-jawed, "This…this must be what going crazy feels like. I've never felt so close to Castiel as I do now."

"I think they captured him, though. You know, captured his essence," stated Balthazar like he was at some fancy art museum commenting on some abstract contemporary art.

"I think he looks constipated," Meg said.

Balthazar nodded and turned to her with a smile, "That's kinda what I meant."

Instead of looking constipated, Chuck looked more like he was about to piss himself, dancing from one foot to the other in an impatient dance, "Hey, guys? How about instead of us being here…out in the open where someone might notice us, we move away from ceramic Chuck, stop playing art critic and get on with the job, is that good? Is that okay?" His eyes were darting every which way, but Dean wasn't sure how much he could actually see past the rim of his hat.

"I dunno, dude. This here spectacle might warrant a moment's consideration," Dean was really starting to enjoy this. In the back of his mind he was thinking about how he could get the other's down from the ship to see this. Gabriel would have probably died from laughter at this point.

Meanwhile Balthazar was moving his head from side to side, never taking his eyes off the statue. He bumped Bobby's and Meg's elbows to get their attention, "Is it just me…or does it seem like everywhere I go, his eyes keep following me?"

They all leaned to one side and then the other, copying Balthazar's movements. Meg was the first to break eye contact with ceramic Chuck, "Oh man! You're right! I always knew Chuck was a total creeper! They did a great job with this."

"Has anyone else read the inscription yet?" asked Bobby. Immediately all of them moved up to read the small text on the plaque at the foot of the monument.

"Now we are that spirit. And where the spirit of humanity lies, there is liberty," read Bobby out loud for them all.

"What the hell does that mean?" asked Dean.

Chuck swallowed audibly, "It's a…a quote."

"Quote from what?"

"Can we just go? We've got a job to do." And Chuck walked away quickly, leading them to the agreed upon meeting place, the other's following after taking one last glance at the statue.

 

"Magistrate Higgins, I presume?" Anna greeted the decorated man in front of her. For a mudder planet he was certainly dressed elegantly. It almost seemed a bit out of taste and over the top for such a rural area.

"You may presume away, my dear. But I only make the people I…preside over use my title. You may call me Mr. Higgins." He bowed low to kiss her hand, playing the perfect gentleman.

"And you may call me Anna, Mr. Higgins."

He straitened up his posture to meet her eyes, "It's a rare pleasure, a visit from a reputable Companion to our little planet. Journey wasn't too taxing, I hope?"

"Not at all. I'm refreshed and ready. Shall we begin at 7:30?" she asked, ready to get down to business. Some of her clients liked that she didn't make them go through too much small talk in the beginning.

He smiled broadly, "That sounds perfect. I have a feeling it will take all your arts to deal with this particular problem," he stated sourly.

"Oh, but every problem is an opportunity in disguise," she smiled back. A lot of men also liked the wise sayings. It tended to put them more at ease. The magistrate practically glowed with relief as he led Anna into the large estate.

 

 

CHAPTER 3

The shell-shocked crew all sat around one of the back tables of the small bar in town, each gripping their mugs a little tighter than usual to feel grounded again after their little discovery. Meg still wore a horrified and confused look on her face that had yet to slip even once. Chuck wore the exact same expression.

"Why…that can't be a statue of me. There is no reason for it."

"Can't argue with that," said Dean, staring into his own cup of…whatever, hoping to maybe find some answers in the foam. Next to him Balthazar had finally taken a sip of the only drink that this place offered and promptly started choking on it, is face turning a spectacular shade of purple.

"Zhe shi she me lan dong xi?!" (What kind of rotten food is this?)

He continued to cough and sputter as Bobby pounded on his back unhelpfully and Chuck sent an apologetic look.

"Sorry, I should have warned you. It's called "Mudder's milk". It's the only drink they serve in the compound. It's got all the protein, vitamins, and carbs of a full on feast, plus it's fifteen percent alcohol. It has quit a kick. First time I drank it I passed out for three days."

Dean cautiously sniffed and then sipped at his own beverage, gagging at both sensations, "Dude, this is nasty!" Meg sipped at hers once, and then downed the whole thing with a satisfied burp at the end and then proceeded to drink Balthazar's and Dean's abandoned cups with gusto, much to the disgust of the others. And Bobby treated his own like hot coffee. Nasty, bitter, too hot, or gross, to drink more than a sip at a time, but drinking it none the less.

"I believe Cassy told me about a similar practice among the ancient Egyptians. They would feed the slaves a special kind of beer that was basically liquid bread that would keep them from starving and would knock them out at night so they wouldn't try to run away or cause trouble…I think Gabriel tried that on us once when we were little, only he tried mixing night-time cold medicine in to our ice cream," Balthazar pondered out loud. Not for the first time Dean wondered how he and Cas survived growing up with Gabriel.

Then something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. A well-dressed individual had just entered the bar and was looking around as if trying to spot something. He stood out right away, and not just to Dean's crew, but everyone. In this place, even the Hawaiian shirts that Gabriel wore on a regular basis would look like a business suit compared to the mudders who wore torn and worn, threadbare clothes. But this guy, he was wearing some silk coat and shirt, his shoes so shiny that Dean could see the light reflected, even in the darkened bar. This guy was clearly not a part of the norm out here.

"Now what is a gussied-up fellow like you doing in a place like this?" he murmured to himself. He made a mental note to keep an eye on him.

Off to the side of their table was a pair of young teens staring wide-eyed at Chuck. As soon as the mechanic noticed their attention he started squirming in his seat, "Dean…Dean , they're staring at me."

"Relax, dear Chuck. They are probably just trying to figure out if you're a badly dressed alien, or just have no fashion sense," soothed Balthazar like he was trying to calm down a skittish cat. Dean payed them little mind because at the moment, the well-dressed man had spotted them and was making his way over to the crew.

"You wouldn't be looking for Kessler, would you?" He said by way of greeting, and hovered over Dean.

None of his crew reacted to the name, smart enough to not give away the game just yet. "We're just having a brew," Dean stated casually. The man bristled.

"I knew a Kessler. He was a good middleman. Low profile. Didn't filch. Last week, the factory foremand and his product crew heard he was moving contraband through town. Got into a peck of trouble for it, it seems." He said as if talking about the recent weather and inspecting his fancy leather gloves.

"What kind of peck was that?" asked Bobby. Dean had to give the Sheppard credit for playing this like an experienced criminal.

The man seemed to consider it a moment before answering, "The kind where they hacked off his hands and feet with a machete and rolled him into the bog."

Meg's lips twitched slightly, "Sounds like they peck pretty hard around here." They sounded like her kind of people.

At this point Dean knew that they were dealing with someone who knew something about there job and he didn't want to beat around the bush any longer, "Listen, my client offworld is waiting for his delivery. If the goods are gone…"he started sharply, but the other man sat down and waved off Dean's concern.

"Oh, not to worry. Your man's merchandise is here, safe in Kessler's hiding place. We've just got to figure out how to get it across town without being seen by the foreman and the prods. I advise we all lay low for a moment." He gave each of the members a hard look and handed Dean a piece of paper with contact information before he got up and left quickly before even more mudders saw him with the newcomers in town.

Dean turned back to his crew, "This day just keeps getting better and better," he said darkly.

Suddenly there was loud clapping as a mudder sat down in a stool on the small stage with a guitar that looked like it had seen better days. They figured that it would just been some light playing in the corner, But then the man on stage started to sing, and the Impala crew's mouths dropped open.

"Chuck! The man we call Chuck!

He looked upon our world of sadness,

Shook his head at all of the madness.

This isn't right, he said shouting out with might!

People suffering, screaming in the night.

Get up my brothers, get out of the muck!

The hero of Canton, the man they call Chuck!

Our hero saw the Mudder's backs breaking,

Our spirits low, our very souls aching.

But he gave us a vision, and with it the sight,

He told us to look up and put up a fight for what's right!

You have the power, you have the choice

Use your free will and each of you rejoice!

The singing continued in the background as Dean slowly turned back to Chuck, silently demanding an explanation for what was assaulting his ears. Chuck didn't even notice his glare, he was too transfixed to the performer.

"Um…Chuck?"

"Y-yes, Dean?"

"You have any light you'd like to shed on this development?"

Chuck's answer was a helpless shrug. Next to him Meg looked like she might just cry, "No. This must be what going mad feels like….I think I'll need to hug Castiel later."

The singing went on, this time all of the mudders in the bar started to sing along with serious gusto like it was an anthem to them. It was too much for Dean to handle and he grabbed Bobby's half finished milk and downed it in one go.

Get up my brothers, get out of the muck!

The hero of Canton, the man they call Chuck!

By word of this man we all joined hands,

Brought down the evil, and took back our lands.

"Ohhhhh, I'll be gorrammed. That's what happened! They read my book! Someone read my book! People have read my book!" He cheered to himself, a giant grin spreading over his face.

"Your book? I thought you haven't finished one yet."

Chuck looked a little bashful, "Well, I finished one. This one…a long time ago, but I thought it was a dud. It never sold a copy when I was here. I wonder if this means I get paid for it…." Chuck's attention was drawn back to the song about him, now eagerly awaiting to hear the rest like it was his first book review.

Dean snorted, "We gotta go to the crappy town where I'm the hero!" And turned back to the entertainment, not quite believing it was actually happening.

The man they call Chuck!

 

Castiel had been working non-stop since the others had left, but nothing he did seemed to be helping. In fact, he was pretty sure he had made it worse. He had been trying in vain to fix the mess that he had made of Bobby's bible, frantically trying to rub away the ink only to smear it in further. Then he had tried some of the correction paint over his added notes and drawings, but the white didn't match the yellowed pages so it had ended up looking like a bird had excreted over each page. And then in another attempt to get rid of the dye, he had gone to the laundry room where he remembered seeing a bottle there that said it got rid of stains, but it turned out that the substance of bleach did little more than make the leather wrinkle and smell foul and some of the pages dissolved at the corners.

His frustration was reaching epic and desperate proportions. He felt poorly about marking up Bobby's book and he wanted to set it right since the older man had been kind enough to try and make him feel better.

Finally running out of ideas, Castiel decided it was time to find his brother and ask him for assistance. He had helped him when they were children and Cas had broken his toy plane. He was a mechanic, and in Cas' eyes, his brother could fix anything.

He sent a pulse through the ship, trying to find an answering warmth from wherever Gabriel was. The return call and the additional flutter told him that Gabriel was in his room, and that Sam was also there. This was wonderful, Sam was also very smart and might also have some advice, thought Castiel and he walked to the crew's quarters holding the tattered and soggy bible in his hands.

Once in the hallway outside of the door, he started to hear odd noises coming from their room. Loud thuds, bumps, groans and gasps. It sounded to Cas like they were straining while trying to move furniture he concluded. Perhaps if I help them with the furniture, they will assist me in my project, he mused.

He knocked lightly on the door, "Gabriel. It is Castiel speaking to you. May I come in?" He asked.

There was more grunting and a long pause, then some more moans. Castiel was about to assume that they had not heard him when he heard his brother shout, "Yes!" very enthusiastically. Satisfied that he had gained permission to enter, Castiel opened the door and walked in, and then promptly screamed in terror, the pitch of his voice shattering several glass objects in the room before he darted out of the room, tossing the bible in the air as he went, the pages fluttering over the room.

From their spot on the bed, the naked Sam and Gabriel started to freak out.

"Castiel?!"

 

CHAPTER 4

The song had finally stopped and with it the crew of the Impala all came to the mutual decision that they all needed more drinks. Even Balthazar was in such a state that he had forgotten his distaste completely and suddenly had a craving for the grainy beverage and went to purchase another round for all of them. The others remained at the table in an awkward silence.

Chuck was practically beaming though. He now had proof that people had actually read his works, and even better still, really really liked it. They even wrote a song! How many books got songs, really? He was itching to talk to some of the mudders about their interpretations or thoughts, but a stern look from his Captain kept him in his seat. Laying low, right.

The crew became distracted as Balthazar arrived with the next round and Chuck didn't notice a girl's approach behind him until she had tapped him lightly on the shoulder. Upon turning to see who wanted his attention, he was greeting with an almost inhuman squeal from the individual that had the crew cringe back expecting their ears to shatter like with Cas' own special call. But the only side effect of her squack was a slight irritation.

"Oh my God! You, you're…!"

"Chuck Shirley, Yeah. Hiya."

Another episode of squealing, "Oh, this is too much! Did you get my letters and marzipan?" she asked excitedly, bouncing up and down on her toes. Her constant erratic movements seemed to be putting Meg on edge and Dean had to slap her hand away from her gun.

Chuck was bewhildered, "Wah? No, I don't think I got any of those…marzipan?"

She took a moment to "collect" herself by taking a big breath and fanning her face, "Oh, don't worry. I have copies somewhere for you as well as another batch somewhere. I just want you to know, I am your number one fan. Oh! And I'm Becky Rosen by the way." She flung out her hand so fast to be shook that even Dean reached for his gun. This girl had to be on something with all of the crazy talk and energy bouncing around her.

Her loud voice worried Dean that it might draw too much attention to their little corner of the bar, but the locals all seemed to be used to her antics and kept on with their drinks, ignoring her happy chatter like it was just background noise.

Hesitantly Chuck shook her hand, and peered back at his crew members for help. All he got was four sets of shrugs.

"So, um Becky…You've read my book then?" He tried.

She rolled her eyes dramatically, "Of course! Everyone here has! It changed our lives. They even make the kids read it in school as required material here."

"Really? They're teaching my methods?" Chucks eyes lit up in wonder.

"Duh! Hey everyone!" she shouted across the bar. Only a few looked up, "Look who it is! The hero of Canton had come back. It's Chuck!"

Finally everyone's heads picked up from where they were staring down at the tables, looks of disbelief on their faces until they caught sight of the layered Chuck. Somehow recognizing him under all of those ridiculous clothes, the bar erupted into cheers and applause. Within a few seconds their little corner became swamped with people. Meg looked like a cornered cat ready to strike at the next person who came too close, and Balthazar downed another drink while Bobby watched the growing crowd around them with growing caution.

Then the bartender somehow squeezed his way through the throng to their table, ripping away each of their mugs, "No friends of the Great Chuck, and especially not the hero himself will be drinking that chou ma niao! You guys drink the best whiskey in the house!" He announced pouring them each a very unhealthily full tumbler of alcohol each. (Panda Piss)

Over the din, Dean leaned over to Bobby worriedly, "We are so royally screwed."

The preacher nodded gravely, "I'm glad that you noticed. I was beginning to wonder if you actually knew the definition of "lay low". At this rate we'll all be chopped up and dunked in the bog by the Canton prod crew my morning."

The Captain swallowed heavily, "I'll admit that I'm a little concerned at this point, but perhaps this could be all part of our new plan."

Somehow Meg had been able to hear them over the cacophony of noise and leaned in close, "How in the fuck is this part of the plan?"

Dean smiled weakly, "I'm still working on the details."

Another cheer roared out of the crowd where Chuck had been led off to the main part of the bar, surrounded on all sides by adoring fans. Balthazar groaned again and poured himself another drink from the bottle of whiskey left at their table.

 

The preparations involved in her normal appointments had become ingrained a long time ago. She would start by lighting the scented candles and incense so that the smell would have time to permeate the room before her client arrived. Then she would make sure that any and all necessary tools for the coupling was discretely beside the bed, ready for use but not there to daunt or make her client uncomfortable. Then she would start heating water for tea, her favorite way to start a session with a first timer. Besides a general making sure that everything was in place, all that was left for her was a small portion of time for her to center herself and find her peace so that she would be refreshed for the upcoming session.

The ceremony of it all always served to calm her. It was also why she was so well known for her trade. She never appeared nervous, or shaken. She just was graceful and refined.

She had just time to finish her short meditation ritual and place in the tea leaves when Mr. Higgins entered her shuttle, exactly at 7:30 and with a young man in tow. She had not been expecting the magistrate to come here.

He greeted her boisterously, startling her, "Anna, allow me to introduce my son, Fess Higgins." The young man stepped forward, eyes cast down and clearly very uncomfortable with the proceedings.

"Hello, Fess. Welcome. Now, Mr. Higgins, this shuttle is a place of union. If you would please…"

"What is all of this? I brought you here to bed my son, not throw him a tea party." He shouted, gesturing to the candles and cups laid out on the table. Anna bristled, but didn't even bat an eyelid.

"Sir, the Companion Greeting Ceremony is a ritual with centuries of tradition…"

But she was rudely interrupted, "My son is 26 years old and he isn't yet a men. And since he can't find a willing woman himself…"

Fed up with the interruption and quickly losing her peace, Anna jumped in harshly as her soft voice would allow, "Mr. Higgins, you are not allowed here."

"What?!"

"As I have said, this room is considered a place of union. Only your son belongs here. So why don't you go on, and let us begin our work." she stated, more calmly this time as if talking to a petulant child.

His face turned red with outrage and embarrassment, "Now listen here, lady…:

"Good night, Mr. Higgins," she stated firmly. Her tone held room for no argument and finally the fuming Magistrate left the shuttle, stomping loudly as he walked off. She rolled her eyes before turning back to her client. What did the magistrate expect to do? Stay here and watch? There were plenty of things that could be included in her contract, but observing parents or relatives was completely out of the question. She schooled her face before turning back to Fess, expression completely relaxed again.

"Well, that's a bit more comfortable. Will you sit?"

 

After Balthazar had nearly toppled over several times now in the last five minutes, Dean decided that it was time to bring him back to the ship. He asked that Meg and Bobby keep an eye on Chuck and any other mind boggling developments until he got back. They both saluted him with their half empty mugs before he stalked off, a giggling Balthazar supported at his side.

He had started whining about half-way back when he finally realized that Dean had removed him from the party, "Hey, where…where's the rum gone? And where is dear ol' Chuckie? I have to commend him. I never thought the poor sod could throw such a fantastic party!"

Shifting the drunken man on his shoulder Dean answered, "I believe that you finished all of the rum, so I'm taking you back to the ship for some rest."

Balthazar looked over with a warm smile, "Oh, you're so thoughtful! Always taking care of others. You know…I don't give you enough credit for looking after Casssy….hic…"

That made Dean pause and he turned to regard his companion who had stopped giggling for the moment. He was still looking at Dean with an intensity that the Captain thought that only Cas could pull off.

"I know that…I've been a little rough on you lately…"

Dean snorted, "Yeah, more like an elephant making love to a cat rough."

Balthazar continued like he hadn't heard him, "But I want you to know that it was because I was scared of how close you were getting to him. I thought that I was upset because I felt that you were taking advantage of his…vulnerable state, but I know differently now. I….hic…I know now that I was actually scared of losing Cassy again. To you, of all people. He's still so fragile, you know? I'm so scared that he will break apart... and get blown away by the wind. But then I see how he acts around you. I can…catch glimpses of how he used to be, when you two are together. He's drawn to you for whatever reason. I'd never seen him do that with anyone until you came along. The very moment you opened up that little ice box, he was yours. Like an odd sort of messed up birthday present all packaged up. I know now that at that moment he was already lost to me….hic…"

They were both facing each other now, in the middle of the dirt path back to the ship. The only sound breaking through the night were the scattered crickets and creek bubbling in the back.

"Listen, Balthazar. You haven't lost him. He'll always be your brother, even with how messed up things have become. He'll always look up to you 'cause that's what little brothers do. So it's your job as a big brother to be there for him, always. I'll always be there for Sammy even if he finally settles down somewhere and says he doesn't need me. I'll always be there because we can never know if he will need me again." He moved up closer to Balthazar and laid a hand on his shoulder,

"Just because Cas is starting to do things for himself doesn't mean he's going to throw you away like some outdated jacket. He'll keep you in his closet until that night when it's cold and he needs you to comfort him."

"And keeping with the metaphor, I suppose that you will be keeping him warm and comforting him until that time he needs me again?"Balthazar slurred.

The look he had on his face now reminded Dean of himself when Sam had first gone off to college, leaving his family behind. Dean had felt abandoned for the longest time, perhaps even useless because all he had ever known was keep your family safe, and watch out for Sammy. It wasn't until Sam came back, seeking out his older brother for comfort after that tragedy, that Dean knew that he had not been cast off. Sam had always known that his brother would be there for him, and coming back to him Dean realized that family wasn't a net to trap them all together, but more like a set of arms waiting open for someone to return….or some girly shit like that. He wasn't sure as it was Anna who explained it to him at one point long ago.

"Balthazar, I want you to know that I will never intentionally hurt Cas. I know that he's still struggling, and I just want you to know that I will help him the best way that I can. If he wants or needs me, I'm there for him." Dean said seriously. Balthazar might not remember any of this come morning, but just in case he did remember, Dean would promise him this.

Then Balthazar's big grin spread back over his features and the giggling started again, "Excellent! Then you two have my blessings! On to the ship! I have to piss like a racehorse!"

"Lovely."

Still keeping the stumbling Novak vertical, Dean led them both along the path, thinking hard along the way while avoiding roots and bushes.

"Oh, and you have full permission to continue your eye molestation with my brother. It makes for a more interesting dinner when you sit across from each other."

 

CHAPTER 5

Mood completely shattered, both pilots shot out of bed and raced to put on some pants. There were few other bigger mood killers then your lovers little brother walks in on you having sex. Sam knew that Gabriel was more than a little concerned for Cas when he darted out of the room before even bothering to try and find his shirt and Sam followed after, not even caring to button up his own.

It took them a half hour to finally find Cas. They had checked every room on the ship, even the nest and couldn't find him anywhere and Gabriel was seconds away from tearing out his hair and swearing himself to celibacy.

They finally located him behind on the hidden storage panels, cowering in one of the dark corners muttering to himself.

"They say that the sight of the monster would cause his eyes to burn out of his head. Too great and awesome for them to handle….my eyes are in terrible danger."

"Cassy? Castiel, why don't you come out here. We can talk about it." Gabriel pleaded, one arm outstretched to his little brother.

Cas backed up further away, "No! I can't. It hurts."

Joining Gabriel in the opening Sam tried to coax him out, "C'mon Cas. It's okay. If you come out we can talk about what you saw. It could help you feel better," he offered gently.

"No! What has been seen cannot be unseen," he sobbed and buried his face in his knees.

Gabriel chuckled softly, "I get it kid. I bet if Dean had seen what you just did, he'd be right in there next to you. But you should come out anyway. There could be icky spiders in there."

"And we'll make sure that you never walk in on something like that again, I promise." Sam said.

"I doesn't matter…It'll still be seared into my brain forever more."

Sam and Gabe exchanged looks, "Please come out Cassy-bear. I've got your…um, book here."

Finally Cas looked up to where Gabriel held out the sopping bible and reluctantly started to crawl out. He carefully made sure not to come in contact with any part of Gabriel's skin as he gingerly took back the book, not sure if his brother had time to wash his hands before coming to find him.

"I am glad that I am not blind because of that. It would have been most cruel for that to be the last image that I remember," he shared with them, not making any sort of eye contact with either of them.

It was at that moment that Dean and Balthazar came back to the ship to great them.

"Honey, I'm home!" Shouted a somewhat swaying Balthazar.

"Yo, Sam, Gabe. What's with the suspicious state of undress that you've got going on? Trying on a new dress code?"Inquired Dean.

They both sent him twin bitch faces.

"Dean, where have you been? Bernoulli's chomping at the bit. He says that he wants his merchandise yesterday," stated Sam, ignoring Dean's earlier comment.

Dean flinched, "Yeah, well, we still have a few wrinkles to work out on the deal it seems."

Slurring horrible, Balthazar had gone up to greet Castiel, breathing foul alcohol stained breath into his face, "Hello, Cassy-dear! Did you…hic…know that Chuck is a bon..bona fide folk hero? He's…got…hic…got a song and evry…everything."

"Balthazar, I believe that you are intoxicated. I'm sure everything will be fine in the morning," Castiel murmured, poking his brother's nose.

Dean moved up next to them, "He has indeed been drinking, but I'm afraid that he isn't spouting amusing alcohol induced hallucinations."

"You mean that, Chuck…our Chuck is a somebody here?" Gabriel gasped. Balthazar snorted unattractively and started laughing again merrily.

"Yes, indeed. We came here to tell you the news and invite you back to the bar. Balthazar here is going to cool his heels and keep an eye on the ship, so if you two want to drink nasty ass concoctions and party with the rest of us, then feel free to come along. Meanwhile I could use Sam's help in finding a way to work around this mess. You three in?"

His answer was three very enthusiastic nods from each of them and after making sure that Balthazar wasn't about to pass out in the hold they were walking down the ramp to head back to the party, Sam and Gabriel rubbing shoulders on the narrow path, and Dean guiding Cas with a hand at the small of his back.

 

"To Chuck!"

Bobby had lost count of how many toasts there had been this night. It had gotten to the point where he was beginning to wonder if there was any more alcohol to be had and that the patrons were just too drunk to notice that the bartender had switched to pond water. The preacher had cut himself off after Dean had left to keep an eye on the Impala's writer/mechanic. He seemed to be enjoying himself quite a bit, but something was nagging at him.

All around the bar he had been hearing drunken stories and accounts about how Chuck's book had changed the way of living in this town, and from what he had gathered so far was not in an entirely peaceful way. However, it could have just been alcohol induced exaggerations, but something about the fierceness in some of the men's eyes reminded Bobby of the time before he became a preacher.

The preacher's stiffness did nothing to dampen Chuck's spirits this night. He was floating on his own cloud nine as people praised him for his work.

"To the teachings of Chuck!"

"To me!" He lifted his glass high over his head, some of the beverage sloshing out and wetting his hair, but he hardly noticed as he called for another toast, "To the Mudders!"

An answering loud cheer followed him and raised their glasses for what was probably the hundredth time that night, "To the Mudders!"

All night he had listened as so many people, men and women, young and old, would come up to him and tell him how his teachings had given them strength, given them hope, shown them the light, shown them the way…It was all a little overwhelming at first. But these people were grateful to him for so many different reasons. He could see and feel the love that they had for him pouring out from their eyes. Not for the first time that night he wondered what his writings had done for them that he deserved all of this.

Dean had come back into the bar a while ago with Gabriel, Sam and Castiel with him, nodding to Chuck as the writer remained at the front of the bar, still surrounded by the town folk. Chuck had glanced over at his crew a few times in the last few hours, making sure that his friends were enjoying the party and were getting the best treatment.

At first they had all sat down with Bobby and Meg and seemed to talk business for a while. The three newcomers had all been formally introduced to Mudder's milk and each had the exact same reaction as the others earlier….except for Cas who held the mug with both hands and after his first cautious sip had started knocking them back like a pro. Dean and Meg seemed to take it as some sort of personal challenge and the "business meeting" had dissolved in less than an hour to rowdy drinking game.

Chuck had been distracted for a bit after that as more Mudder's came off of a night shift and entered the bar to see if the rumors had been true and that the hero Chuck had returned to them. Another hundred toasts later, Chuck blearily glanced over to the table where his crew had been before.

Meg seemed to have decided to take a nap and was leaned against the wall, her mug barely staying held in her hand by lax fingers. Bobby was still in his seat, eyes robotically scanning the crowd. He appeared relaxed enough though as he talked with Sam and Gabriel who were laid back together against the wall of the booth. They didn't appear to be talking about anything important or serious going by the casual and laid-back postures, so Chuck didn't think that he was needed for the moment.

Earlier there was a small mishap when a happily buzzed Castiel was asked for a dance by a few of the local girls. He had smiled at them and looked like he was about to agree when he took notice of Dean's face. It had gone from cheery to suspicious in a matter of a few exchanged words and Chuck could see even from a distance the Captain's knuckles turn white where he was gripping his cup perhaps a little too tightly.

Dean had been acting funny ever since the Bela thing and had started to keep after Cas even more than before. The scuttle bug on the ship was two theories for the behavior. Gabriel reckoned it was Dean still being pissed off that some girl was able to plant one on Cas and now Dean was worried about Cas wandering. Sam's theory was similar only Dean was more worried of Cas being taken advantage of because of his blessed naivety. Whatever the reason, Cas seemed to pick up on Dean's change of mood and sent them away with probably something really odd judging by the bewildered looks on their faces as they left the crew's table.

Now looking around, Chuck frowned a little when he couldn't spot his Captain and Castiel at first glance. They were no longer at the table with the rest of the crew. He hoped that they hadn't left because they were bored, or something had upset Cas, but then he shifted and caught sight of a familiar trench coat draped over the back of one of the bar's couches behind the pillar.

There were Dean and Cas, blissfully blitzed out on the couch talking together, practically sitting in each other's laps and a pile of empty mugs on the floor in front of them.

 

Dean was warm, that's the only word that he could come up with to describe himself in his inebriated state. He had been talking to Cas for the last two hours or so about whatever came to mind. Stupid little stuff that he never had gotten a chance to really talk about before since in the past the conversations the two had had were on the serious side. It was nice to see this side of the other man. Completely relaxed, not looking behind himself as if waiting for a Garrison soldier to nab him, not in pain from whatever the deal with his back was, and not frantic about…anything.

It wasn't as if nothing had ever happened to Cas. He was still spouting crazy talk, and some of his smiles were a little too dazed for Dean to totally forget what had happened to the other man, but for now it was just them and no one else. Even Sammy had slipped from his mind.

"You know, I've saved lives. Dozens, maybe hundreds. I saved people during the war, whole towns that the Garrison was set to destroy. Whole towns! One town even named a bar after me. The Win...Whinchester. I haven't even had time to go back there and drink at my own bar yet." He slurred out, sounding incredulous at the very thought of not drinking there.

Cas was just staring at Dean, attention solely focused on the Captain. It might have looked a little weird or creepy to anyone else, but Dean was used to it by now.

"Hmm…more bars sounds nice…"he purred contently. Neither of them had taken notice at how close they had gotten to each other. Dean had his back leaned up on the armrest of the couch while Cas was stretched out next to him, practically curled up with him like a cat.

"You know…hic…I bet that if we go back to that town, I'll get a nice welcome like our Chuckie did here. Free booze for all ya." He gestured absently with one hand. Cas chuckled and sat up with his mug raised.

"To Chuck then. I don't know what he did, or why I'm drinking poison, but…I'm a fan of his work none the less. May he inspire hundreds more," he went to drink out of his mug in the traditional sipping after making a toast, only to find that his mug was empty.

He turned to Dean, a ridiculously serious look on his face, "Dean…Dean, I think someone must have drunken from my cup. I don't remember finishing it."

Dean giggled, "Dude, no way. You've been holding that in your hand for the last half hour."

The other man's eyes widened in wonder, "Then this person is of true skill. Perhaps he deserves my drink as a reward for such stealthy feats."

That earned a hearty laugh from Dean, "Oh man, I still can't believe that you told those girls that you couldn't dance with them because you were concerned about invasive microbial insects."

Cas gave him a serious look, "I have to be concerned. I only have this one vessel and it would not have been very responsible of me to let it become host to whatever those women could have been fostering."

Dean snorted into his mug, choking on his last swallow, "You're pretty funny, Cas."

"And you're…pretty."

Pause.

"What?"

"I said you're pretty," he stated more firmly, "You look very nice on a daily basis, especially after you work in the engine room for a while and get grease all over."

"Dude, you don't call a dude pretty."

"Damn pretty, then?"

 

Sam watched from his spot back at their table as his brother and Cas happily talked about whatever with smiles on both of their faces. He, Gabriel and Bobby had come up with a simple plan finally of how to get the goods out of town without too much attention drawn to them and Sam was about to go let Dean in on it when he spotted them on the couch together.

It seemed that whatever had been holding Dean back from moving forward with Cas had been pushed away or dealt with at this point. Maybe it was the tongue loosening of alcohol, maybe someone had finally said something...whatever it was, it looked like things were finally happening, but knowing Dean, come the sober morning it would probably be one of those two steps forward, one step back things.

Sam had been staring for a while and he jumped a little when Bobby tapped on his arm, "I think it's time to get out of this nuthouse. I believe we've got some planning to work out."

Gabriel whined and turned back from where he too had been watching Cas and Dean, "Now? Things are going so well! Our babies have finally hit puberty!"

Bobby sighed and glanced over at the couple on the couch and then over to Chuck, "Yeah, it seems like everyone is having a good night."

Sam looked up with sad and pleading eyes, "Maybe they should stick around to make sure that Chuck isn't swallowed up by his adoring masses."

Bobby knew that he wouldn't be able to argue with either of them at this point, so he reluctantly gave in a bit, "Fine. They can stay here, but you have to fill Dean in on the plan before we leave. I don't care what you interrupt. He's the Captain and he has to know."

Both of the pilots grinned and Sam got up to go comply with the compromise.

He headed over to the back of the couch where he quickly whispered the tentative plan into Dean's ear. His brother pondered on it a moment before nodding, giving consent and then waving as Sam walked off for the night.

 

Dean turned his attention back to the man pressed up against him. Cas was looking up at him with such intensity that it almost startled him. Luckily they were both plastered enough that they could fall right back into the moment before Sam had dropped in. Dean smiled at Cas and took another big gulp of his Mudder's milk, wondering when it had stopped tasting like horse piss.

All of a sudden Cas' gaze dropped to his lap and Dean frantically assumed that something had bothered Cas and was about to sit up when he started to speak low, the gravel in his voice sounding less rough than usual, "Dean, I wanted to thank you for…for everything. I wandered into your path, drenched, confused….unclothed, and you took me in and took care of me. I hope you know what that means to me."

The honesty in his voice gave Dean pause. He jumbled it around in his intoxicated mind for a moment before snorting and slapping Cas on the back affectionately and making both of their drinks slosh dangerously, "Dude, don't worry about it. You're like family now! I'd piss on you if you were on fire!"He said seriously.

Cas looked up from his lap smiling in open wonder and adoration, "Dean, that is the kindest thing that anyone has ever said to me," he whispered and then frowned as if thinking very hard about something, "Dean…I think this is an appropriate junction, so I'd really like to exchange saliva with you right now," he slurred.

Dean's eyes widened comically, "Cas…that is the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me," he slurred back. They both stared at each other for a moment, slowly moving closer. Dean's eyes closed half-way, as did Cas'. They moved closer until they were a breath away and that was when Cas felt Dean slip away, pulled under by the heavy weight of alcohol on his eyelids. Dean was unconscious, fast asleep.

Castiel sighed, half in disappointment and half in fondness as he saw the lines around Dean's eyes fade and his whole body relaxed underneath him. Slowly Cas laid a lingering kiss on Dean's forehead before pulling back and resting his head on Dean's chest, ready to wait the night through in this spot until the Captain awoke again. It was a shame that twice now Cas had only been able to share a kiss with Dean while he was not aware. He didn't know why he wanted to so badly. Half the time he was still unsure if this was the real life, or just a fantasy world he had created in his mind to escape the Host. Why was he so drawn to this man? Why was he prepared to give everything for him? Why was he so ready to put all his trust and faith into Dean?

He had no answer to his own questions. He glanced around the noisy bar, keeping a lookout for any trouble that might bother his sleeping charge. Seeing nothing he rewared himself with another long stare at the Captain and watched as his chest rose and fell in a comforting pattern.

In a swell of emotion he reached out a hesitant hand to softly stroke the side of Dean's face, "I'll watch over you," he whispered. And he felt as Dean sighed heavily in his slumber in response.

 

CHAPTER 6

Once the elder Higgins had finally left, Anna went about her trade and made her client as welcome and as comfortable as possible. She was trained to keep her face schooled and only show certain emotions during appointments, but she found herself giving honest smiles to the man in front of her. His fidgeting and awkwardness reminded her of Chuck, while his blatant honesty had put her in mind of Castiel, but most of all he reminded her of Dean when they had first met and he was still under the impression that his father never did wrong and that Dean was a failure because he had not lived up to his expectations.

Normally it was procedure to avoid subjects that had the potential to make her clients nervous, or even shameful, but something told her that she could help the boy in front of her, so after the tea leaves had worked their magic and the stress lines on Fess' face faded she decided to approach the subject. But she was surprised when Fess beat her to it.

"I-I must apologize for this whole thing and for my Father earlier. He's just concerned for me. I've disappointed him so much. It's uh…it is embarrassing, really."

Anna smiled warmly, "There is nothing to be embarrassed about. I know plenty of men with overbearing fathers who push them to unreachable limits."

He looked up at her startled, the candles in the room reflecting off of his glasses, "But I want to do well by him. I want him to feel proud. I want to be a good son for him."

"You want him to show that he loves you," she said, making it a statement and not a question.

He swallowed hard and nodded turning his face to his lap to try and hide the tears that were poised on the rim of his eyes, but Anna noticed them. Wordlessly she handed him one of the many scarves that were placed around the room. He took it and dabbed at his eyes as a heavy blush spread over his cheeks.

"I'm sorry. Here I am blubbering like a fool in front of a Companion. My father's right again, I guess. I'm weak. And he had to bring you all the way here, only for me to…"

He made a move to get up from the couch but Anna shook her head and quickly grabbed his arm to pull him back down and look at her, "Your father's not right, Fess. It's not weak or embarrassing to be a virgin. It's simply one state of being. And I believe that virginity can be lost with a single thought, but can be kept with a second one. It's the mark of the strong individual who can hold back when so many others push him forward."

He finally looked back at Anna, a hopeful light in his eyes that brought yet another smile to her face, "Now as far as bringing me here, Companions choose the people they're to be with very carefully. For example, if you father had asked me to come here for him, I wouldn't have."

He looked surprised, "Really?"

Smiling she nodded, "Really, Fess. You're different from him, not a clone, and not his project. The more that you accept that, the stronger you'll become."

Right before her eyes she saw resolve in his features, as if he was already shucking off his father's hand from his shoulder and consciously making his own choice here. He took off his glasses and set them on the table, revealing the face of a young man and not a boy. He was already grown up in so many ways and he was now realizing it. His father may only see him as a boy still, but Fess was beginning to see himself in a new light.

He turned back to Anna and the innocent awkwardness was gone. There was no fidgeting, no blushing. This was no longer something forced upon him by his father or anyone else. He chose to lean forward slowly and remove the cup from Anna's hands and place it on the table. He chose to cup her face gently, stroking a thumb over her cheek. He chose to move closer, only stopping when their lips finally met.

 

The party was still going on even though each Mudder had work the next day, even if it had died down a little. They were all too busy enjoying having their hero with them, sharing a drink, and who was Chuck to disappoint them. The cheers had turned to shared stories amongst the crowd and it had broken up into little pockets spread around the bar. Absently Chuck noticed that his crew had all taken off for the night, or had passed out on each other like Cas and Dean, but yet he stayed. Becky was also soldiering along with him, but that might have been the fact that she seemed to run on sugar and caffeine.

It had finally gotten quiet enough that Chuck felt that he could finally ask the burning question on his mind. Turning to Becky he caught her eye, "Um, so what exactly did my book do for all of you? I mean, so far everyone has said "It changed our way of life" or "it gave us strength"…but no one had told me how exactly it did that or what was changed. I mean, I get liking a book. I get liking the message it gives…but you guys made a freaking statue of me."

Becky nodded like she had been expecting this for a while and she put down her now cold coffee, "While you were living here, you were inspired, right? You saw how the people here struggled here. How everyone's lives were so dark and everything seemed so…hopeless."

"Um, yeah. That's how I came up with the book actually. I saw so much pain a suffering that I wanted to remind people of what they could do to make their lives better."

"You remember who caused most of that suffering?"

Chuck frowned, "Well, I guess one of the reasons that people were so lost was because they were ruled by an unfair system and were basically treated like they were disposable, but…that was just one reason, right? It wasn't so much of the "who did it", but "how to fix it" type of message. Or that's what I meant to write."

"Well after you left things got pretty bad around here. The old Magistrate started forcing new laws and harsher punishments…then he came up with this plan to shut down half the establishment that would have had hundreds of us losing our jobs and getting sent off planet. But then one day someone found your book. They read it and learned about standing up for yourself. They learned about making choices. They learned about true freedom. "The basic question in our minds: Are we marionettes, or are we creatures of free will who just happen to have a lot of jerky movements?" That was the first quote I had ever heard from your book. It made me really think on whether I was just listening because I was obedient, or because I really had no choice. That really got to me, you know? It made me realize that by just going along with whatever I was told to do, even if it was obedience and not force, I was never making my own choices. I didn't have that freedom. And I think that's what everyone else thought eyes were opened to see that they were nothing more than lowly slaves to the Magistrate, so they rebelled."

"Rebelled?"

"Yup! People stopped listening to the Magistrate. They stopped going to work, didn't do what they were told to. They finally broke out of the metaphorical chains that held them back. When the Magistrate found out what was going on, he sent his prods in to force his will upon us, but that's when the Mudders resisted."

Pride swelled up in Chuck's chest. These people, these wonderful brave people took his lessons and saved themselves, "What about his plan to shut down? Did he change his mind?"

She scrunched her face up, "Eh, that's where things got kinda messy."

And just like that the pride dissipated and his heart sunk, "Messy? How messy? Like a few overturned wheelbarrows?"

She shook her head sadly, "A bit more mess than that. See, the Magistrate sent in his prods to set us straight and shut down the areas that he had planned on anyway, but the Mudders banded together. There were too many of us to be put down, so in the end…there was a battle. And we won."

Chuck felt sick, "A battle? Like…with guns?"

Sadly she nodded, "Yeah, there were a lot of lives lost in that fight. Mudders and prods, but we soldiered it out and got what we wanted. We got to keep the factory open. And then when we put up the statue in town center, the Magistrate became even more pissed off and tried to have it torn down with whatever was left of his prods, but the whole town rioted. I was there for that part! I even chose the scripture to put on the plaque." She sighed dreamily at the end and placed her hands on her heart, reliving the memory in her head.

"You guys had a riot? Because of me? A real riot?" Chuck squeaked.

She smiled at him widely, "Of course! You were the one who made it all happen! We wouldn't be free without you! Half of us would be gone and the rest of us would still be slaves to the old Magistrate."

"And what happened to the old Magistrate?"

Absently she waved her hand, "Oh, some of the Mudders had him locked up somewhere for "war crimes" or something." She took another sip of her cold coffee and then looked back to Chuck with such adoration in her eyes, "I really can't believe you're back," she whispered in awe.

Internally Chuck was frozen. His entire being had turned to ice as he heard of what had happened here because of him. He couldn't muster up even a weak smile for her as she dreamily stared at him.

Finally after a long pause he was able to choke out a response. "How could I stay away?" he whispered hoarsely.

 

Back at his estate, Magistrate Higgins poured himself half a tumbler of his strongest scotch and sat down heavily in his velvet chair by the fireplace with a dark scowl on his face. How dare that woman force him away. He knew his son better than anyone, and he knew that Fess would probably blunder and deteriorate and ultimately disappoint him if left to his own devices. He was paying good money to see that his son was given this advantage. He had invested so much in making sure that his son would grow up to be a strong man like his father, and now the very whore he hired was kicking him out.

He growled into his cup as he took a large gulp that burned all of the way down and almost choked when he heard a knock at the door. Cursing under his breath he moved to see who it was at this late hour. Internally he was preparing himself to open the door to see his son standing there having completely failed at yet another thing.

But instead he was surprised to see that it was one of his foremen standing at the door.

"What do you want? I'm busy in here praying that my son is losing his cherry, so it had better be worth my time," he hissed.

The foreman had the decency to blush at the confession, "Um, sir, there's a problem in the town. It seems that Chuck Shirley has come back." He reported.

The information had the Magistrates head realing. He had heard many stories about this man when he had taken the position here. None of the other Garrison polititians wanted this post after what had happened, so Higgins, being of a lower status than the others eagerly volunteered for the post to boost his status. It wasn't until he had arrived that he heard that the previous Magistrate had been locked up by the Mudders for trying to shut down the plant. If this Chuck was back, it could only spell disaster for Higgins. There could be another rebellion….

He turned to his prod, "Wait here. I'll get dressed and then you will escort me to the cages."

The cages were actually a row of about ten wooden boxes on stilts down by an abandoned mud bog. They were originally made by the old Magistrate to put misbehaving workers in for a few days to make them more compliant. But the Mudders had taken them over and used only one of the sheds now for their own purpose. So far they had only one prisoner who had ever been put in one of them, and for the last eight years that prisoner had been left there.

Purposefully Higgins and his foreman walked up to the occupied shed and gestured to his man to open up the wooden cell. The door opened, but it was so dark outside that he could barely see into it to catch a glimpse of the man inside. The man that had the fate that he feared most.

"Um, Good evening Mr. Lucas."

A raspy voice drifted out from the shadows, "What do you want with me?"

"Nothing. I just have decided that you have served your debt and that it's time you were on your way."

Higgins listened as he heard rustling from inside the box, then a form starts to move to the front, just enough into the light that he could make out an emaciated face, practically skeletal with shadows bouncing off of the edges of his cheek bones even with the wild hair and beard that had grown. It looked like it was a demon emerging from the dark. Higgins stepped back in fear and roughly pushed his foreman forward and motioned for him to hand a bag over to Lucas.

"Those…those are your personal effects."

Lucas took a moment to look through the bag, "I don't recall having a loaded gun," he remarked casually.

A dark grin spread over Higgins face, this was what he was hoping for, "Oh, how strange. Well, you can keep it anyway. I bet you have the urge to use it, no doubt."

Lucas gave him a pointed look, "Bit dangerous to be giving a gun to a man who has just been pulled out of hell after eight long years. Especially when you're the one who took over his life and job while he was out of town."

Higgins cleared his throat awkwardly, "Yes, I can…I can see why that might be risky, but I'm not just here to get you out, you see. I'm also here to tell you that someone has arrived back in town that you might want to go see. Someone who you would be very interested in."

"You've got my attention." Grumbled Lucas.

"Well you see, it's all very poetical. You getting out…and Chuck Shirley coming back, just yesterday in fact. Almost like fate one might say. But it's none of my concern really. I just thought you two might want to catch up. Eight years is a long time after all. Anyway, best of luck in your new life." Higgins tipped an imaginary hat and quickly walked back up the path with his foreman one step behind. Behind him as he skittered off, he heard as Lucas cocked the gun.

The sound triggered a grin on Higgins face.

 

CHAPTER 7

The first thing that Dean though as he woke up was wondering who had fallen into his bed that night. Whoever they were they felt like a freaking furnace with the heat they were giving off. It was damn cozy though. Then he remembered the night before…most of it anyway and blearily he opened his eyes to see that the heavy weight that was crushing his ribs was a content and awake Cas staring up at Dean from where he rested his head near the Captain's.

He smiled eagerly upon seeing Dean open his eyes as if he had been waiting all night for him to wake up again. It brought a gentle grin over Dean's features, "Hey, Cas," he murmured sleepily, rubbing at his eyes. That's when his mind finally caught up with the rest of the world.

Immediately his eyes shot wide open and he sat up, almost dumping Cas on the floor, "Cas! Wha? What happened?!"

Cas didn't seemed the least bit perturbed by the sudden movement and just stretched like a cat along Dean's side, somehow managing to not fall off the side of the narrow couch they were sharing.

"Hello, Dean. What were you dreaming about?" He asked casually.

Dean was still trying to process his position and calm down from waking up beside his best friend, "Jeez, Cas. You get your freak on by watching other people sleep or something?"

Cas looked confused, "I was already a freak. I don't think watching others sleep is what triggers it."

"Um, right."

"What were you dreaming of though? I could see your eyes move in the REM cycle, so I know you did in fact dream. I'm most curious. I never sleep anymore myself. I sort of miss it, the dream part anyway. It is sad to me now to know that I can no longer have dreams. That's why I was curious about yours. I believe that all dreams say what they mean, but it just isn't in daytime language. That makes is so hard to know what we really want when we are awake."

He listened as Cas prattled on about dreaming as he started blinking slowly and Dean relaxed slightly, happy to see that Cas wasn't finding this as awkward as him. That's when he decided to glance around him to get his bearings. It was just his luck to see no one else there except the bar tender slowly gathering abandoned mugs….and then he spotted Sam, Gabriel and Balthazar standing at the foot of the couch staring down at them with blank expressions.

This time Dean did knock Cas to the floor in his scramble to get up, "Hey guys!…No, nuh-nuh-nothing happened. No, there was, uh, there was some drinking, and uh…some sleeping. And Cas was cold…yeah, cold. So there was, um, contact." Dean winced at his own word choice. The fact that Sam and Gabriel looked like they were each wearing "Oh yeah, sure" faces were not helping. Especially since Balthazar, the guy who only last night said he was going to trust Dean, was now saw Dean and his baby brother…in contact. Manly contact on a couch. Balthazars face was still holding it's blank expression, leaving Dean floundering as to how pissed off the middle Novak was.

And Dean's sorry attempts at explaining it were definitely not helping in the slightest. "I mean… We didn't, didn't you know…I mean, I would never! Not…not with Cas…"

Balthazar finally raised a judgmental eyebrow and looked over to where his little brother now wore a hurt face next to Dean. The Captain followed the gaze and also saw as Cas shrank back from Dean's side and moved over to Balthazar and Gabriel.

"Awww, Cassy-baby. Did the mean ol' Captain hurt your feelings?"Gabriel pouted as he wrapped his arms around his little brother, glaring mockingly at Dean. The pilot knew that Dean hadn't meant that at all. Dean was just incredibly bad at admitting to having feelings, Sam had told him so. He would just let Dean stew for a bit in his own guilt before he would step in and fix this little misunderstanding. If Cas could do anything well, it was bounce back.

He turned to Sam and Balthazar with his chin raised high as if smelling something offensive, "Come along my love and dear brothers! Our ride has arrived, and it's a huff! So we shall leave in it!" And he marched the others out of the bar, leaving a guilty Dean alone trying to dislodge his foot from his mouth.

"Cas," Dean called, but Cas was already gone. Turning angrily he kicked at the couch hard, only to stub his toe. Cursing he sat down at the bar where the bartender was drying out the semi-clean mugs with a semi-clean cloth.

Being ever the stereotypical and good bartender he noticed his frustrated customer and asked, "Rough night then?"

Dean snorted, "Nah, it was a great night until the sun came up."

The bartender chuckled and nodded in agreement.

"I don't suppose you have a menu?"asked Dean.

...

"A what?"

 

"So where's our hero?" asked Bobby as he and Meg met up with the others in the town square.

Gabriel wiggled his eyebrows at them, "How much you guys wanna bet that he went home with that Becky girl? Got the real hero treatment, if you know what I mean."

Sam elbowed the pilot in the side and shrugged helplessly at the preacher when from off to the side he spotted Chuck slowly walking out from on of the side streets, hands in his pockets and eyes to the ground. His tragic posture put everyone on alert. Even Cas stood up a little straighter upon seeing the kind mechanic in such a mood.

"Chuck? You okay man?" asked Sam when the mechanic had come within hearing distance. He sighed heavily before pulling his head up to look at the crew. Each of them gasped as they saw his red rimmed eyes and pale face. He obviously had not gotten any sleep last night after the party had finally died down and they had never seen the man look so sober or somber before.

He took a shuddering breath before speaking, "No. I'm really not okay."

"What's the matter? Did Becky laugh?" joked Gabriel, but Chuck looked neither annoyed nor defensive at the comment, he just looked lost.

This time Bobby was the one to step forward, "What's wrong, son? Where have you been all night?"

"I was…I was in the graveyard. I saw all…all of them."

"All of who?" asked Balthazar.

Chuck's face turned stone cold. "All of the people that died because of me."The whole crew stepped back confused. Chuck's odd behavior and his appearance now was a complete 180 from the night before where he was happy, excited, and enjoying life as a hero.

Another stuttering breath Chuck continued, "These people rebelled because of my book and so many died because of it. I nev…never intended for my teachings to lead to violence. How can they call me a hero when I was the cause behind so much pain and suffering?"

None of them had an answer. Not one that he was looking for anyway. Bobby stepped forward, "Listen, boy. I know that whatever happened here wasn't your fault. You may have left the fuel out, but they were the ones who lit up the fire." Chuck looked up from his feet, new tears brimming on the edges of his eyes as Bobby continued, "A wise friend once told me that we live in a sorry universe. It's engineered to make conflict. I'm starting to see now that this sadly holds true most of the time. Now isn't the time to blame yourself. It time to do what you can to make it right."

Bobby glanced over to Castiel after he said this, nodding at the young man to let him know that he understood what he had said before. Cas nodded back solemnly. Chuck didn't notice any of this as he was going through some mental battle in his own head, eyes glued to his feet.

Meanwhile Meg nudged Sam's arm and gestured for him to hurry this on as they had a deadline to meet. Begrudgingly Sam had to agree, and he stepped up to Chuck and rested a large hand on the smaller man's shoulder, "Chuck, I know that you are going to hate this, but we need you to play hero a little bit longer. Last night we organized a little ceremony for you while we move the goods out of town. They're expecting you to give a speech or something in the town square. Can…can you do that?"

Sam was fully expecting for Chuck to have some sort of breakdown at this point. The mechanic was bad enough with the idea of public speaking, but adding this on to whatever mental anguish he was going through right now, Sam was steeling himself for anything at this point.

But they were all surprised when Chuck nodded firmly, seemingly coming to some kind of decision in his head. His despairing look had been replaced by one of fury and determination. It made each member of the crew's eyes widen and exchange worried looks. However, they were unable to delve further into Chuck's inner turmoil because it was nearing the time when the transfer was to happen and they needed to get in place, so Sam took a lesson from Dean and decided to trust in the crew to do what they had to, even Chuck.

"Okay guys, here's what's going to happen. Meg and I are going to do the pick-up. Gabe is going back to the ship to be ready to take off in case things turn sour. Bobby, I want you to keep an eye on things here in the square while Chuck's doing his thing. Cas, can you and Balthazar act as our scouts and walk ahead of us as we move our stuff?"

Castiel nodded, happy to be included in the plan and to be of some use for once.

"What about Dean?" reminded Bobby.

Sam looked thoughtful for a moment and glanced over to Gabriel for direction. The pilot nodded, ready to back Sam up with any decision. "Dean…Dean knows about the event. He'll be there with Bobby. Any more questions?"

Everyone shook their heads. They knew their parts.

 

The candles in the room were little more than puddles now, only holding on to their flames by a single threat of wick left. The tea cups were long forgotten as the Companion and the man with her remained entangled in the bed, not even noticing their sweaty limbs and wrinkled sheets.

Anna lay up against Fess' chest as he stroked her long red hair slowly. It was one of those magical moments that Anna always remembered with fondness in her trade. The moments where she felt that she had made some sort of difference in someone's life, where she could know for sure that her art was far more than bedding rich men. Only hours ago Fess had been an awkward person, still holding on to the jitters of youth, but then he had laid with her with such confidence and power that all traces of the boy who trailed after his father had evaporated from his skin. She didn't get to see this transformation often, but it would never lose its magic.

"You're very quiet," she commented gently, as if a small tease.

He sighed and she felt his chest move under her, "I'm sorry. I just…I thought I would feel different after. Aren't I supposed to be a man now? I feel just as I ever have."

She turned to face him and ran a delicate hand over his collar bone, kneading at the skin below, "You were a man the moment you chose to do something for yourself and not for your father. When you moved into my embrace it was of your own resolve, I could see it in your eyes. If you have only done this for your father, then I'm not sure that I could have honestly said you were a man. The father makes the boy, not the man. You do that yourself."

Fess met her eyes.

Suddenly there was a loud banging on the door, "Fess! Fess Higgins! Get out here now!"

 

CHAPTER 8

After scrambling to find his pants and shirt and Anna had thrown on a bathrobe, they opened the door to the shuttle to see the Magistrate's impatient face staring at Fess and refusing to even glance over at Anna.

"Fess I need to speak with you now. Alone," he growled.

The young man turned to Anna and nodded to her, silently assuring her that he would return as soon as he had finished with whatever his father wanted. Then he kissed her cheek gently before walking outside and shutting the door.

Not wanting to evesdrop, Anna moved away from the door and made busy by cleaning up the shuttle, finally blowing out the candles and turning on the lights. Those little chores taking up all of three minutes she cast a glance to the door again. She paused her breathing to try and hear something now that curiosity was starting to consume her normal politeness. She didn't hear raised voices, but she definitely heard the Magistrates sour tone as he spoke to his son.

He's probably going to ruin all of my hard work with Fess, she thought sourly and moved to start up a pot of tea. Maybe should could do damage control whenever Fess came back.

It took only ten minutes more for Fess to return and Anna was more than pleased to see him roll his eyes dramatically when he came back in. Clearly he was much more comfortable with sassing his father now. Anna allowed herself a pat on the back for that.

He sat down on her couch without invitation and rubbed tiredly at his face. No mere boy made that kind of gesture with that amount of weariness. Fess was coming to realize that the conscious awareness that came with being a man wasn't all glamour and power. This transformation she was seeing in less than a day was like a rare chance to watch a butterfly burst out it's cocoon.

"Dare I ask what that was about?" she prodded gently, small hesitant smile on her face as she poured them both a cup of tea. Fess exasperatedly shook his head and took a large sip of the beverage, not waiting to check the temperature. Thankfully he seemed no to notice the scalding water boiling it's way down his throat.

"That was about the criminal hearing for today. Apparently some things have occurred in the town overnight and have stirred things up a bit. Nothing for you to worry about. He didn't even bring you up. I was relieved."

Anna very nearly choked on her own sip of tea as her thought immediately went to her friends. Mentally she berated herself for thinking that the crew could handle even one simple job without finding trouble these days. She had once asked Dean why it always seemed to be them that found the trouble and his answer was a shrug and a cheeky, "damned if I know!"

"Oh, I don't mind hearing about it. Indulge me as I admit that I'm sort of curious as to what could upset your father so much." Yes, that sounded like a logical reason for her to ask. It didn't at all sound like she was concerned that her friends found yet another way to get mixed up in something. She sent up a small prayer for them to all be safe, and also wouldn't have to bail them all out of jail.

Fess didn't seem to notice her mild panic and he sighed wearily before answering, "My father has ordered me to attend this criminal hearing as he wants to set an example of how I should handle the town's folk when I attain his position."

"It seems reasonable, but maybe use his example as an example and not a guide. What was the crime that occurred?" She hedged, trying to keep the conversation within Companion guidelines.

Fess looked thoughtful for a moment, "Well, it's actually a bit more complicated than just a simple crime. You see, there's this man, uh…well it happened before my father and I came here. He wrote this book you see, and the people used its message to rebel against the previous Magistrate who treated them poorly. It became…a mess as my father calls it. I thought it was more of a tragedy because so many people ended up dying because of it. But, the writer, he became a kind of hero or idol to the people here in Canton."

Anna nodded at him encouragingly, "Go on." This didn't seem so bad yet. As far as she knew there was no crime in writing a book. Then again, who on their crew would be a part of that kind of inspirational writings? The only one on their crew who even admitted to writing was Chuck, and he only wrote adventure novels.

"Well, this writer is back apparently. He landed here yesterday."

Shit. It was her crew after all. Damage control time.

Fess continued not noticing her face lose all color, "When we moved here my father forbid me from reading the book, but I did anyway. It was the first time that I had ever not listened to him. It truly was inspiring. I can see why the people reacted that way they did. And after what happened to the old Magistrate…well, let's just say that my father never feared anyone more than he feared this writer."

Anna smiled indulgently, "Oh, yes. That is marvelous. Sounds like a remarkable person. I don't suppose you could give me the authors name? I do like a bit of light reading in between jobs." She laughed awkwardly.

"It's more than light reading. More people keep that book by their bedsides than they do bibles. The authors name is Chuck Shirley. I have an extra copy if you would like." He said the name with such awe that Anna almost didn't even react to the name at first. No one said Chuck's name with awe, but here they did it seemed. Sweet, awkward, stuttering Chuck. What was happening here? Anna was flabbergasted.

"This criminal hearing…it's for this, Chuck person?" Fess nodded absently as he sipped at his tea calmly, not noticing the turmoil in Anna's eyes.

"Yes. Although, I'm not sure what my father plans to charge him with. All he did was write a book. But my father had him traced back to his ship. He had Port Control put a land-lock on it. When Chuck goes back to his ship he'll find out he's grounded and can't escape whatever my father has planned for him. It's a shame though…I sort of hate the idea of his getting caught." Fess' face turned thoughtful as he idly traced his finger around the rim of his cup.

Anna stilled his hand with hers, "Yes, that would be bad….Listen, I need to tell you something."

 

Dean was examining the gruel that he had been served for breakfast. The bartender had told him it was this or more Milk. Deciding to give his liver and kidneys a break, Dean opted for the protein mush. He was beginning to regret his decision as the globular meal started to congeal to the point where his spoon could rest upon the top without sinking in.

He had been sitting here for the last hour going over every way that he could explain to Cas what he had meant earlier without sounding like a girl, and without sounding like an idiot. It had been pretty intensive. So far all he had been able to come up with was making Sam do it. He wasn't too sure that Cas was impervious to Sam's puppy eye "trust me, I love feeling feelings" look, but it was worth a shot.

He reached for the spoon to try a bite of his breakfast only to have it hold firmly to his tongue like there was an adhesive in the meal that clings to it. In a half fondly and half traumatic experience kind of way he thought of how this reminded him of Cas' "culinary adventures". With a frustrated sigh he released the spoon and sat back. Maybe he would just give his whole body a break. His stomach was precious to him and he wouldn't treat it this poorly if the only way he was going to earn Cas' forgiveness was to eat one of those protein sandwiches of his later.

He heavily dropped his head onto the table using his crossed arms as a pillow. Behind him he heard footsteps coming closer. He assumed it to be the bartender and without even looking up he held his hand out, "I think I'm all set for the uh…check."

Instead of hearing the grumbling voice of the bartender, he heard a smooth and frankly a kind of creepy voice from right behind him, "I hear you run with Chuck Shirley," it said in some pseudo friendly manner.

Dean half turned to address the voice, now seeing an emaciated man behind him. They guy looked like he could easily be in his fifties with the condition of his hands and skin, but there were no lines around his eyes and his hair was blonde, not gray. So upon his second glance Dean assessed him to be in his late thirties, early forties.

"Excuse me?"

A snake like smile crept over the man's face and for a moment Dean was concerned that his face might crack open from the expression. It looked like it had been centuries since this guy tried to break out a smile. "Chuck Shirley….about ye high. Brown hair. Squirrley disposition…and a lot to answer for. You remember now?"

Trying to play it cool Dean turned back to the bar, "Everyone knows him here. Big damn hero."

Then Dean felt it, the barrel of a gun cold against the back of his neck. The Captain cursed himself for turning around and lifted his hand in surrender. The man behind him moved closer to hiss into his ear, "You are going to take me to that dirty, low-down shingle of a man right now."

Dean shivered, "Listen, buddy. I really don't know…"

CRUNCH!

Dean suddenly found himself holding his broken nose after he had been swung around and had been punched in the face with the butt of the gun. Momentarily stunned, the man was able to manhandle Dean until he had him pressed up against the bar gun poised in Dean's now bloody face.

"I am not your "buddy", and I sure as hell ain't your friend. I just spent the last eight years steaming in a hot-box and you're going to sit here in front of me and lie about knowing Shirley?" His voice never raised in volume, but the deadly intent could be heard with each syllable he spoke and Dean found himself truly scared of this person.

Roughly he was pulled back only to be shoved into the bar again, rattling every bone in Dean's body, even his teeth were aching after that one, "All the folks here have been saying that you're a part of his crew, so…" Another rough shove and Dean was pondering how many sessions with Cas it would take to heal up bones, "Where is that no-good reptile hiding himself?" Somehow he had managed to pull Dean's knife off of him without the Captain even noticing and was now tracing it along Dean's jaw, "You better tell me, boy, or I'll cut off every last bit of those good looks."

The close proximity of the other man was the perfect opportunity for Dean to stealthily reach behind the bar and feel around until his hand curled around the neck of a promisingly heavy bottle. Wary of the knife in his face, Dean pulled the bottle out and smashed it over the man's head. He lashed out with the knife in his momentary confusion and got a lucky slice in on Dean's chest sending him to the ground.

He immediately pounced on Dean, holding the Captain in place on the dusty floor, knife and gun back in his face, "Ohh ho ho, boy we're not done here yet, but that little stunt is going to cost you an eye."

He leaned forward and Dean could only struggle helplessly as he watched the flash of the blade move closer to his eye, but then from outside they both heard chanting. A distant chorus of "Chuck" was being shouted out in the town and Dean absently remembered that it was probably noon and it was time for Chuck's big speech.

Seemingly forgetting his promise of making Dean into a Cyclops, he roughly pulled the still stunned Captain from the floor and marched them out of the bar, heading straight for the source of the chanting.

 

CHAPTER 9

The procurement of the goods was as simple as can be. Meg didn't even feel the need to do any intimidating posturing with the quick exchange and Sam was eternally grateful for the small break as the rode back through the town on the transcar. Balthazar and Cas had been dutifully radioing to them from fifty yards ahead reporting clear roads all through the town except for the town square, just like they had planned on.

Balthazar and Cas were waiting for them at the edge of town when the transcar caught up and Sam hopped off to greet them, "Hey, what's up? Why did you two stop here?" Sam asked concerned. The two brothers seemed unable to stand still and Cas looked incredibly impatient about something.

"Cassy won't go any further. He says he wants to go back to town now." Balthazar stated calmly. He didn't look annoyed or frustrated with Cas, more like he had become nervous as he picked up on his brother's agitation. It looked like the middle Novak had made a conscious decision to listen to Cas when he said something needed to be done.

Castiel's fidgeting was somewhat alarming for Sam as well. As odd as it was to listen to a person who was clearly a few shelves short of a library, Sam was not about to brush him off. He turned to the youngest Novak, "Okay Cas, you and I will head back to town," then he turned to Meg and Balthazar, "Meg, I want you to strap down the goods back on the ship so we are ready to go as soon as possible. Balthazar, go with her and tell Gabriel to heat up the Impala. Cas and I will round up the others. And then we're blowing this mess in the next half hour. Dongma?"

All nodded in agreement.

"Let us go collect our wayward babes," Whispered Castiel and then Meg and Balthazar sped off in the transcar while Cas and Sam started a light jog back to the town that eventually escalated into a full on run as Cas adjusted their pace, growing more and more frantic as they raced on. Sam's stomach slowly started to drop as the implications of Castiel's concern registered. Someone was in danger.

 

Bobby had been watching from the back of the crowd as all gathered. He had learned in his time that large groups of people usually didn't lead to good things, especially when he now knew that this particular crowd had once rebelled in such a way that caused many deaths.

His concern for their shy mechanic grew as he thought back on the desperate determination he had seen in the young man's eyes before he had gone off. The boy had something that he wanted to say, Bobby could see that plain as day. What really had the preacher worried was what he planned on saying. He could only pray it was what the crowd wanted to hear.

He would be comforted for now by the happy and loving cheers he heard for their mechanic among the throng of people. He chuckled to himself as a few of the young women of the town let out loud squeals as Chuck moved into sight, "They do love their boy."

Chuck! Chuck! Chuck! Chuck!

Bobby began to distance himself a bit from the crowd as it continued to grow, worried that he might be absorbed into the pool of people. He had a job to do and it was damn hard to keep an eye on things when he was packed in so tight with others he felt like a sardine in a can. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a few of the prods milling around the square. Two of the more clean looking ones were almost within hearing distance of the preacher. While it should seem perfectly normal for the prods to want to keep an eye on the gathering, Bobby couldn't shake the itchy feeling he had on the back of his neck. He wasn't so sure that their intentions here were entirely pure.

The Sheppard had learned in his short time here that the cleaner the man, the higher the status for this town, so he meandered his way inconspicuously over near them, just close enough to hear what they were saying.

"I don't understand it. Why aren't we just nabbing him now? He's right there," the first one said in an annoyed tone.

The second one shook his head, eyes never leaving the crowd, "Magistrate says no. We hold position, understand me?" He lashed out in a hushed whisper.

That was enough to alarm him, and Bobby quickly reached for his radio to call it in to Sam when he spotted the tall Winchester over the sea of people. Even from this distance he could see the slight panic in the young man's face. Then Bobby spotted Castiel. There was no mistaking that look. They had trouble brewing.

 

Chuck! Chuck! Chuck! Chuck!

He could feel his whole body shaking with each step he took closer to the makeshift stage they had set up. It was little more than an old crate set up next to his statue, but to Chuck, right now it looked more like center stage of a massive theater If it weren't for what he had to say here, he would have probably already wet his pants and run back to the Impala to hide. But this had to be done. He couldn't just sit by and these people made a monstrosity out of his work. Steeling himself, Chuck stepped up on the crate and looked out over the crowd.

Right below him, somehow managing to make her way all the way to the front, Beck stood beaming up at him. They were all beaming up at him. Chuck had to crush the wave of pride that rushed through him at the thought. This was nothing to be proud of. Still, he couldn't help but feel an urgent fondness for these people. He had felt it since the very day he came here and was promptly thrown into a coma for a few days after he was offered their favored drink. He loved them, and that's why he wanted his first book to be an inspiration for them. He had wrote it just for them…

Speech! Speech!

Awkwardly he cleared his throat, "Um…I'm really not so good with words…I guess that's why I became an author." He chuckled hesitantly at the confused looks that passed over a few faces, "But…I do want to thank you all for being here, and for…thinking so much of me, but I don't deserve it. When I wrote that book…I wrote it with all of you in mind. From where I sat I saw that you people had been given the shortest end of the stick that had ever been offered a human soul in this 'verse. And I could only sit back a watch as your souls clung to that short stick, slowly losing their grips and about to fall into nothingness."

He took a moment to glance around the crowd again, cataloging all of their faces as they were now. So hopeful, so empowered… "I wanted to save you. But I only had simple tools to do so, so I wrote. And now I come back to see that you have gripped that stick tight, and rose from perdition. And that's…well, I guess that's something."

All around him the Mudders cheered. As he waited for the noise levels to die down before continuing, Chuck spotted Bobby move over to where Sam and Cas had appeared. All of them were looking around worriedly. Chuck momentarily forgot where he was and was about to head over but then another screeching cheer from the masses startled him back to reality. He glanced once more over to where his crew was gathering.

Sam and Bobby had been half listening to Chuck's speech as they all kept scanning the crowd. Castiel was perched like a hawk on one of the benches as he hunted the gathering for whatever was bothering him. His attention was solely focused on his own task, and left Chuck to complete his own.

Bobby huffed once Chuck had paused his speech, "Well, that wasn't half bad. I'd expect more from a planet famous author though."

Sam offered a weak grin, "I'm shocked myself. I thought he would have wet his pants and run off to the Impala by now." He had become increasingly worried as he scanned the crowds because he had yet to spot Dean. It could have been simply because the square was so full, but Sam had a sinking feeling that this wasn't the case.

That's when they all heard the gunfire.

The crowd suddenly parted like the red sea as a man walked forward with a gun held high and dragging a bloodied Dean behind him. The man moved right up to stand in front of Chuck a sick smile on his twisted features. The deadly intent in his eyes kept all others from stepping forward except for Sam, Bobby and Castiel as they rushed forward to where Dean was being held up.

The man noticed their approach and raised his pistol high, "Nah ah ah, stay right there you three or I'll send lead straight through his skull before you can even blink," he threatened. He received three murderous glares in return, but they didn't move any closer.

Abruptly the man turned to Chuck, "Hello there! I bet you don't recognize me. See, I used to look a lot different from this. Hell, you might even say I looked kind of handsome. But, eight years locked up changes a man. So I'll give you two hints as to who I am. I am the man whose life you ruined. And I'm the man whose going to ruin your life."

The laugh he let out after his introduction was a cackling mess that sent shivers down everyone's spines, but Chuck quickly realized who it was before him.

"Magistrate Lucas."

Lucas smiled, "That's right! I always knew you were a smart one. I thought it might be a nice reunion gift if you got to watch while I butchered one of your boys here," he roughly shook the barely conscious Dean to emphasize his presence.

Chuck almost panicked, but was able to stop himself before he started to plead for Dean's life. That would be what Lucas wanted. He had to be strong for once, "He isn't one of mine." He lied, somehow managing not to stutter.

Lucas looked amused, "Oh he isn't, huh? That's too bad." Obviously he didn't believe the lie, but he threw Dean off to the side without a second glance and moved up closer to Chuck.

The three crew members nearby dove down to where Dean was. Right away the Captain sought out Cas through his scrambled brain.

"Cas?" he choked out.

Castiel moved right into his line of vision and placed a hand on his forehead gently, "I'm here Dean. I'll fix you," he cooed, but Dean grabbed the hand away from his head and held it in his own bloody hand and made Cas meet his eyes.

"No. Cas, I have to apologize. The blood can wait. I'm so sorr—"

"Shh, shhh. Don't worry. Balthazar explained it to me. He said you were suffering from momentary idiocy and that you would be feeling better later," he whispered gently in his ear.

Cas smiled as Dean's tense posture melted until him and tried to remove his hand from Dean's to try healing him again only to feel Dean's grip tighten and his whole body tense again. Castiel glanced up to see Dean's focus returning to the standoff between Chuck and the snake Lucas. Castiel absently noticed that the echoing bursts that alerted him to danger had not ebbed in the least. The danger was still screaming around them.

Lucas had painted on a fake smile as he stood in front of Chuck talking casually like they were old friends catching up, "So, what's this about a "Hero of Canton?" Was I hearing that right? Eight years of lock-down plays tricks on the ear."

Chuck swallowed painfully, "I'm not a hero."

The friendly expression morphed into one of complete fury and contempt, burning a bright red as he spat back at Chuck, "Damn right you're not a hero! Because of you I was tossed in a cage for just being a good business man. I was doing what was right for the Garrison, make money for them and the company, and then these Mudders punish me for it! All because of you and your words!"

Becky pushed forward from the side, "You were about to send away hundreds of workers! They're way of living would be destroyed! Chuck gave us that back. He gave us the hope and the drive to say enough was enough, and we fought back for our way of life," she shouted.

"At the cost of what, little girl? How many of you died in those riots? How many of my men, who were only doing their job, died? Did Chuckie and his book here tell you about the cost of what you wanted? In his infinite wisdom, did he know what would happen to his beloved Mudders if they rebelled?"

Becky shrank back a little at that, as did many more of the Mudders as they thought back on those who had died. Lucas smiled a sickly satisfied smile, "He's more responsible for lost lives than I ever would have been, and yet I was the one you locked up."

Chuck had been listening to Lucas' words, letting each one pierce him. They were the same words that he had been saying to himself since he learned of the rebellion in his name. He had cried for hours in that graveyard as he read each of the names upon the stones. He didn't know whose names were those of Mudders or those of prods. He only knew that each name was of someone who had died because of his book.

Eyes red rimmed, Chuck looked up to face Lucas. His whole world seemed to stop and move through the next few seconds frame by frame, in mind numbing slow motion. He absently watched as the ex-Magistrate lifted his pistol and aimed it at him. Chuck spared a glance over to his crew. They wouldn't be able to get over to him in time, not that he expected or even wanted them to. He looked back at Lucas and watched his finger tighten over the trigger.

The worst part of the slowing of his world, he was then able to watch as a figure with blonde hair moved in between him and his sight of the gun and wasn't even able to react fast enough to realize what was happening until the gun let out a loud crack as a bullet was released. By the time the world moved back up to speed, he had already watched as Becky's body fell to the ground at his feet and lay still.

The scream of the crowd was possibly the loudest and most damning sound he had ever heard.

 

CHAPTER 10

He threw himself to the ground at Becky's side, turning her still form over so that he could see. He only had enough time for her dead eyes to register before he heard a second crack of gunfire.

Lucas had raised his gun a second time it seemed, not at all deterred since hitting Becky and aimed at Chuck again, but before he could get another shot off he was stopped, literally dead in his tracks as a bullet streamed through his skull courtesy of Sam Winchester's gun.

Dean and the rest of the crew ran forward to crouch by Chuck and the fallen girl. All eyes turned to Cas as Chuck silently begged him to fix this.

An intense look of concentration creased over Castiel's brow as he bent forward and placed a hand on her chest and he closed his eyes. All of the others, the town folk and crew waited with their breath held as Castiel worked. The town people may not have known anything about Cas, but they somehow picked up on the crew's impatience for the young man's assessment as if sensing his other-worldliness.

He held still, half crouched over her for a very long minute before his frown deepened. He leaned down lower, touching his forehead to hers. He held her there for a long while. It wasn't until Dean heard the stuttered whimper from Cas that he leaned down to catch his gaze.

There were tears pouring down both sides of his face once Dean was at an angle to see. Then he was easily able to pick up on the tremors running through the other man's smaller frame as his breath hitched.

"Cas?" He tried gently.

Sorrowful blue eyes turned up to look at the Captain, his tears reflecting in the sun for the whole town to see.

Cas opened his mouth to speak, but it seemed like he couldn't make a sound. Instead his face crumpled in defeat and he mouthed the words, "I'm so sorry." Before burying his head in Dean's shoulder.

The crowd around them gasped at the despair clear on the young man's face. They knew what it meant. Becky was gone. All around hats were removed and soft cries could be heard spreading over the mass.

Dean gently moved a trembling Castiel away from the girl as Bobby pushed in to take their place, starting the prayer for the dead before he even got close to her.

Chuck's world was crumbling around him.

"No. Get up. Please. You can't…why would you do that? What's wrong with you? Didn't you hear a word he said?" He was beyond tears at this point. He had gone completely numb as he looked down at Becky's face, frozen in death. It was so wrong. He had never met someone with so much life in them before. How could that much life be snuffed out so quickly? What a waste. So much waste…

Gently Chuck moved her from his lap and positioned her on the ground, taking time to move her bangs back in place before he rose up before the crowd.

"This is not what I wanted," he whispered, then louder, "This is not what I wanted!"

Angrily he looked over those who would worship him, those who followed him unquestioningly.

"I never meant for this to happen. I never meant for any of you to follow my word as such mindless puppets. You say you read the books and treated them as The Word. But obviously you didn't understand a single sentence. "The basic question in our minds: Are we marionettes, or are we creatures of free will who just happen to have a lot of jerky movements?" You might have thrown away your old leader, but instead of shirking the strings that held you, you chose another puppeteer. An absent one at that. You interpreted my Word, yes. But you didn't know what I truly meant."

He spun around pointing an accusatory finger at all of them.

"My message was many things. I wanted to make all of you feel less like the animals that you were being treated as, and I wanted you to feel more human. To have free will. To realize that you had the power to break through whatever held you down. But you missed the part where I wanted you to act as humans, to care for your fellow man as a brother and you continue to act like animals. Fighting, killing… Becky died today for me. I never wanted that. I don't deserve it. My Word is nothing to die over. It was something to bask in, or perhaps go to in times of trouble. A guide. Not an example."

The crowd had become dead silent as their idol continued. They watched his anger, sorrow, and frustration grow on his face.

"It was meant to be a celebration of the beauty and limitless potential of humanity, a glimpse into the magic behind the human soul and the power behind choice and freedom. But you took my vision of free will a morphed it into something else. You used it as a reason, no, an excuse to harm others and start a war. You hurt those who thought different, just as you were hurt by those before who also thought different."

He paused to catch his breath. He hadn't even noticed that he had started crying and now it was like a vice was around his chest. He gulped in air, wincing as his throat tried to close up.

"You weren't ready for this. You were too immature to handle such a concept and the power of freedom and choice. You're still stuck in the mud, waiting for a time for you to wipe the dirt from your eyes and see what you have done here. Did you really think that one singular book by one singular man would hold all of your answers? That the Word would be infallible? Well, there is no such thing. There is no single book that holds all the answers. And there is no single human who could be so wise. We live in a sorry universe that is engineered for conflict. It's my fault for not seeing that sooner. And I am so sorry. I'm only human."

Chuck turned around and looked up at the statue that stood menacingly over the town. With a loud shout he put all his strength into it, and toppled it to the ground and watched as his image shattered at his feet.

The sullen crew boarded the ship. Bobby and Sam lead the rest back to the ship, glancing back ever few moments to see those who trailed behind. Cas and Dean were both leaning upon each other for support, Dean for his injuries, and Cas for his heavy despair. The young man was still reeling over his failure to heal Becky, and everyone could see how it was tearing him up as his pain was written all over his face.

Chuck was a different story. It was like all the emotion had been drained out of him during his breakdown back in the square, and now all that was left was an empty husk shuffling along behind the rest, not really registering anything around him.

The sadness in all of them was far too raw to even think about discussing at this moment.

 

Sam reached for the comm. box as soon as all were up the ramp.

"Gabe, we're on. Get us the hell off of this mud ball."

Gabriel could hear the weariness in Sam's voice as he heard the call. He was glad enough to hear that everyone was on board and there were no shouts of people who were being rushed to the infirmary, so he figured that it could wait till later.

"Uh, yeah. I'm working on it." He called back.

What he didn't tell Sam was that for the last half hour he had been frantically pushing buttons and pulling levers trying to get the ship started. On the display next to his left hand there was an alert flashing the sign for land-lock. There was no overriding this.

"Goo yong jong dun goo yang."

Then a small noise behind him alerted him to Anna's arrival in the control room. She looked a little flustered, which was weird for her.

"Hello, Gabriel. Has there been a problem with takeoff?" She asked hesitantly.

Gabriel's frustration peaked, "Is there a problem? Is there a problem?!"

Then the bright flashing next to him suddenly disappears and the land lock is released as the engines finally roar to life.

Stunned Gabriel grunts in mild satisfaction, "Huh. No. We're fine." And he goes back to his procedure of takeoff while Anna slinks off with a small smile on her painted lips.

 

"You did what!?"

Fess almost smiled at his father's bellowing, "I sent an override to Port Control to lift the land-lock on the Impala."

His father whirled on him, "Don't think I can't see that smirk! I ought to wipe it off of your head with a belt. How dare you defy me?!"

Casually Fess leaned back on the couch and shrugged at his father, "You wanted to make a man out of me, Dad. I guess it worked." This time his smirk showed in full glory over his face, making his father's face turn an alarming shade of purple.

With any luck the Garrison would hear about the incident here and his father would be either reassigned or fired completely. Fess didn't care at this point. Apparently the town's people had liked him all along and would love to put in a good word for him in the Garrison.

He happily daydreamed about how he could help the mud plant grow and pay the workers better…as well as a lovely red-headed woman at his side. He thought about this as his father continued to yell.

 

Cas had disappeared as soon as he had finished healing Dean. The Captain had assumed at first that he was just going to sleep for a while after healing him, but there was a nagging at the back of his mind telling him that he knew this wasn't entirely the case. Only two hours after the ship had taken off, Dean found that he couldn't ignore this calling.

Quietly Dean moved into the crew's dorm hallways to Castiel's "nest" as they kept calling it. He was cautious of his footfalls not wanting to wake the other man if he indeed was sleeping, but as he drew closer he heard a muffled noise. By the time he reached to hatch to the nest, he was able to identify the noises as soft sobbing.

Without even pausing to think Dean opened the hatch and jumped down the ladder. His gaze fell upon Castiel almost immediately where he was curled on his side on the bed. He could tell by the pure and utter exhaustion in Cas' face that he had not slept yet to recover from the healing.

Slowly he moved over to the bed and sat down gingerly next to the now quietly crying man, "Talk to me, Cas."

There were a few more hiccups and sniffs before Cas softly replied, "I'm so sorry that I couldn't fix her, Dean. I…sniff…I tried to find her glow, but it was already gone. You can't rekindle a flame that's already gone out." He said miserably.

Dean started to rub at Cas' back, not because he thought his back was hurting him, but because he knew that it was still a comfort to him, "It's okay, Cas. We all know you tried."

"Maybe if I were stronger…"

Dean shook his head and grabbed Castiel's face between his hands to make him look up at Dean, "Cas, you did all you could. Nobody could have saved her."

Cas glanced down guiltily, "That may not be true…I saw things at the Host. There are beings there that are barely human anymore, crafted by the hands of men. I've seen what they could do. They could have saved her I think…and I think…that perhaps if I were still at the Host I would have the capability as well. As it is…I became weak when I was cut off from them."

Dean snorted, "Cas. I've told you before. You are anything but weak. And I'd rather have you like this, more human than not."

He seemed to take some comfort in this, but the sorrow didn't leave his face and the tears still leaked out ever few moments.

"I still wish that I could have saved her, for her sake as well as Chuck's. He's swimming in a dark lake all alone. The water is so cold out there..." he confessed between sobs.

Unable to hold back and watch him in so much pain, Dean laid down next to Cas and pulled him in to his chest and buried his face in his dark tousled hair, "Shhh, its already happened and you can't fix it. You're going to have to move on like the rest of us mere mortals."

He felt Cas' nod against his chest and then felt the tremors still running down his smaller frame.

"Cas, just fall asleep. You might feel better once you get some rest."

Cas sniffed loudly, "Remember how I told you I can't have dreams? It's still true, but…I can have nightmares. They're always there…lurking, waiting for the next time I close my eyes. I'm afraid of what terrors await me behind my eyelids."

The confession near broke his heart and Dean tightened his hold. He had held Sammy like this a hundred times when they were younger and Sam had his own nightmares about any dark shadow that his young mind had conjured. There had been a trick that Dean used to use when trying to get Sam to fall asleep. Maybe it would work on Cas.

Softly he began to sing.

"Hey, Jude. Don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her under your skin, then you can begin to make it better."

He felt as Cas began to relax and the tremors slowly ebbed.

"And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain. Don't carry the world upon your shoulders."

He sang even when he knew that Cas had already fallen asleep. He wanted Cas to know that he wasn't leaving and he would try his best to keep the nightmares away.

 

Chuck hadn't gone to dinner that night. He had stayed in the engine room working hard through the night until his hands were shaking so badly that he could no longer hold the tools. He didn't even want to fathom going to sleep at that time, so instead he ventured on to the catwalk over the hold. He had seen the Winchesters and Castiel use this spot many times as a place of reflection. Maybe this spot held some sort of magic resolving power that could set everything right in his head.

Absently he glanced at his watch, and saw that it had been almost 17 hours since Becky had been shot. The realization was almost like a slap in the face. He finally felt some sort of emotion rise again instead of the aching numbness that had frozen him earlier. He felt it well up in the back of his throat, threatening to choke him.

"It just doesn't make sense," he whispered to himself, "Why did she have to do it?"

"She chose to save you."

Chuck jumped and swiveled around to see Dean and Cas walking towards him on the catwalk, "Wha-, what are you two doing up?"

Dean shrugged, "We just woke up. Kind of fell asleep before dinner, so we're a bit on the hungry side. Thought we'd venture to the kitchen for a snack. What about you?"

"No—nothing. Just thinking, I guess."

"Thinking about what happened?"

Chuck nodded and turned back to the railing, unable to keep eye contact with Dean.

Dean and Cas moved up next to him and leaned on the railing as well, "You know it wasn't your fault? Any of that? Those people are responsible for the mess they made."

Again Chuck nodded, "Yeah, I guess I get that. Bobby said the same thing earlier. Said I might have been the fuel, but I wasn't the fire."

Suddenly Cas spoke up next to him, "He's right. There was nothing you could have done. It's not the first time people have taken a good book and used it as a weapon. Should we fault the one who makes a gun to protect, but someone else uses to kill? Or should we never make guns in the first place?"

Chuck scoffed, "If I had a choice now I would have never written the book at all."

Dean chuckled lightly, "Well that's one thought, but it was done with good intentions. And it did help a lot of people. You could never have known what would have been the right choice at the time you started writing. Really you can't even know for sure now. Just think about where all of those people would have been if they never stood up for themselves?"

Chuck tumbled this around in his head before responding, "You know, I've been wondering…about the guy who created the Garrison. I bet when he planned it, he planned on it being wonderful, a dream utopia for all men. I mean, that's what it sounded like to all of us when the idea was proposed. But now looking upon it, I wonder if he sees how his beautiful image has been twisted into something ugly and ruthless."

Dean seemed to ponder this for a moment, "I think…that every man who ever had a statue made of him was misunderstood in some way or another. It isn't about you, Chuck. It's about what they needed to believe. When it comes down to it, the origin doesn't matter, just where everything ends up. And anything in between is out of our control."

"Is it always going to end up so violently?"

Cas shrugged next to him, "Well, what would you rather? Peace, or freedom?"

They all fell quiet after that, allowing Chuck to absorb everything. Dean and Cas both knew that no amount of comforting words would magically fix this for the mechanic tonight. The trauma and guilt might never go away completely and Chuck would always think back on these last two days and feel a rock drop in his stomach and his throat clog up. They both hoped though that Chuck could at least try to find some peace in their words.

After a few minutes Dean couldn't take it anymore. There was a question that had been burning in his mind since Chuck first told him about his time on the mudder world. He thought that maybe perhaps he should wait, but the question was literally burning a hole through his skull.

"Hey, um Chuck? I have to ask, man. You said that there might be people mad at you and you had no idea about the whole book thing, so….why did you think people would be mad?"

Castiel also looked thoughtful at this and turned to the mechanic waiting for his answer. Chuck blushed and that nervous disposition that the crew new, loved, and for a few hours now had missed, came back with a vengeance. His gaze fell to his feet and he bit his lip nervously.

"Um, well..you see, I…I didn't pay my last month's rent before I left," he mumbled out quickly.

Dean couldn't hold back. He burst out laughing and had to hold tighter to the railing in front of him so as to not fall down. Castiel nodded solemnly, as if it was indeed a grave crime. But the incredulous laughter from Dean worked its charm, and soon both Chuck and Castiel were joining him. The happy noises filled the hallways of the Impala, and nobody could have been able to sense it but Cas, but the ships engines burned a little brighter.


End file.
